Posts tagged hope

What Matters Most

 

They hadn’t seen the little stream flooded like that in decades! Eight-year-old Johnny brought his little brother out to the edge of the stream to see the roaring of the muddy water.

“Wow!” shouted little Bobby, as he gazed at the roaring stream . “What happened?” Bobby’s little face gazed at the boiling, debris-filled water.

 

“It’s a flood,” Johnny explained, walking down the edge of the creek, observing the shaking of the shrubs being torn from the banks, as they slid away as the water overpowered the banks, now slick and muddy from the power of the rumbling water.

 

Suddenly, Bobby broke away and ran down to the edge of the bridge.

 

“Bobby, come back, the bank might collapse!” Johnny cried.

 

“No! He cried. The bank was sliding away, carrying Bobby with it.

 

With his last bit of strength, Johnny grabbed Bobby’s’ belt as he clung to a bush with his other hand. He plucked his little brother from the deluge, carrying him back to the trailer on the hillside where they lived.

 

“Oh my God!” cried their mother as she ran down the rotting steps. “What in the world happened.”

 

Tears were running down Johnny’s face as his mom held Bobby tightly in her arms. Johnny was lost for words, all he could say as he sat breathlessly on the steps was, “The bank collapsed, I couldn’t get him!”

 

“No, baby, their mom smiled, you DID get him, you are the bravest boy I know!”

 

They were all crying now, dirty and cold as they sat there watching the rushing water carry away the bush that Johnny had been holding onto.

 

Suddenly, nothing else mattered, the rusted trailer, the old red truck, daddy loosing his job. They had each other. Mother carried little Bobby in to his father, as he sat with his head down on the tattered couch.

 

For the first time in weeks, Daddy smiled. He knew everything would be alright.

 

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To Those Who Go Unrecognized

The person who “pays forward” a young mothers bill in the grocery line,

the elder who listens to the tears of a teen, and shares her wisdom,

The cat who jumps in your lap and purrs when you are lonely,

The mom who makes extra cookies for the shut-in next door,

The teacher who stays after class to help a struggling student,

The driver who lets you in line at a long red light,

the tired mom who rubs her teens back until she hears his soft breath,

These are the rare people we need more of, and who aren’t recognized.

linked from:http://www.velvetverbosity.com/2013/11/04/100-words-353-nanowrimo-inspiration/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+velvetverbosity%2Ffeed+%28Velvet+Verbosity%29&utm_content=Yahoo!+Mail

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Freedom and Truth

As I start to press the “publish” button on a story about the loss of my son from a sudden heart issue, and the organizations that I have found that help prevent these tragic, unnecessary deaths. I think of  my losses caused by having to live without him, I find my hand shaking, my heart throbbing and wonder if I have the courage to push the button. I know I will have to respond to replies, open the wounds and subject myself to religious opinions that make me ill. Finally, I will hit the button, realizing that If I save one mom from the hell I have ended, it will be worth it. Opening my wounds id definitely the type of blog that both frees me , forces me to be truthful and hopefully helps others avoid the tragedy of loosing a child.

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A Day of Anticipation

He looked out over the beautiful sunrise as it revealed its first light above the mountains in the distance. The sky was ruffled with bright pink clouds just before the bright red ball erased them and climbed slowly onto the mountaintop. It looked as if it were a child’s ball, ready to roll down a hill.

“What was he doing here,?” he thought, adjusting his position on the rock to one more comfortable. “Why had he come here, now, of all times, to this beautiful place?

He thought about that day, so long ago when he sat here with her as her auburn hair blew wildly in the warm wind. It was hard to imagine that such a feeling, such a magical time of life would ever end. “Fool.” he whispered to no one.

He took a sip of the barely warm coffee and sighed as he looked out over the mountains. The sun was up now,, casting long shadows toward him of snags still standing from the spruce killed by the wooly adelgid beetles which has decimated the beautiful trees over a decade ago. A crow landed on the limb closest to him and let out a hopeful series of “caws”. The gray-green lichens now covered the trunks of the trees, giving them an eerie sort of second chance, something still lived there, even with the death of most of the forest.

He thought of her standing there. How she had stood at the edge of the precipice and laughed, making him leap and grab her, in fear that she might fall. He realized, at that moment, that the fear of something happening was often in vain because in that tiny moment that we experienced the heart-pounding fear run through us, we usually had time to stop the tragedy from occurring.

He stood up and walked towards his truck, glimmering now, n the sharp angle cast by the sun. He stretched, got into the truck and started the engine. As h traveled down the mountain, he got a glimpse of the valley below. The houses, a farm that had survived the influx of wealthy city folks, and finally, the church.

He took a deep breath in anticipation as he watched the cars gathering in the church parking lot. The sisters and cousins preparing for the wedding. Her wedding-to someone else.

“Men didn’t cry.” he though to himself and hit the gas pedal with an angry roar. The sun suddenly blinded him as he rounded the curve and he felt himself tearing towards the edge. The rocky edge on the upper side of the road. The engine sputtered and died as the fan hit the wall. A wisp of smoke rose from the engine.

He jumped out, heart pounding and looked around. “Was she really worth dying for?” he thought as he shook his head, amazed that he wasn’t hurt or dead.

The sun settled behind a cloud as a couple of guys in hunting gear walked up to him.

“You alright, man?” One of them said.

“Yeh, I’m, alright,”he sighed. “But I need to call a wrecker.”

In the distance, the church bells rang, as he sat in the grass, silent, deep in thought.

“Today was not his day,” he though,” not for a new life, but not for death either.” A weak smile crossed his face as the hunters called a wrecker for him. Life was funny like that, sometimes, it seemed, we needed nature to cleanse us, empty the pain and give us a chance to start over.

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Where There is Love

The sound of waves hitting the shore combined with a sharp wind. It was the perfect picture of life at the junction of the  water and sand. Two sea gulls sat together on the sand, One seemed injured, the other, taking short flights and diving at minnows in the shallows left by low tide.

I was witnessing the caring of natures partners. One gull rose on the wind and dove into the water, coming up with a wiggling minnow. She waddled to her partner and pushed the food into his mouth. He hobbled, then swallowed. She flew into the wind.

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The Voice of Spring

The Voice of Spring

The winds of winter still catch us in early morning, or perhaps as the sun finally sets beyond the horizon. Our hearts ache for the warm breeze to linger, that first bloom to appear. Then one majestic morning, they are waiting at the bus stop and the child notices a bulging amidst the tiny clump of pale green leaves. He pulls at his mothers sleeve and smiles, knowing that inside that bulge was a blossom awaiting just the right warmth in which to open, to declare that spring had indeed come to the mountains! Mother smiled, thinking not of the hope of the peaches’ blossom, but of the sweetness of the fruit which would hang, heavily on that branch come July.

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Time Out!

I would like to thank all of my loyal readers.  I enjoy your blogs and look forward to that quiet time to indulgence myself in reading and writing.

Unfortunately, my cup is running over with things I need to do, with deadlines, stress, and bronchitis with little rest.

I will be reading a lot more than writing for a few days.  The only way I know to find out bout the prompts I love to write for is when I get them in my email box, so please don’t forget me.  I may surprise myself and get caught up sooner than expected.

Thanks so much for your loyalty and inspiration! beebeesworld

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Silence

 

The grass, soft and new, flowers nodding quietly in the warmth of spring. He sits on the quad at the university between classes, thinking.

 

“What will I do when I get out of here,” he thinks. Smiling, he imagines her face, a house with a picket fence, him coming in with a brief case at days end. 60

 

Across the quad, she sits, thinking, “What will I do when I graduate?” She sees herself walking in the door, slinging down her briefcase and turning on the news. He walks in with a glass of cool tea for her. They smile.

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Speed-Memories from Long Ago

“Summer breeze makes me feel fine, blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind.” Those words come from the song, “Summer Breeze’, written by Seals and Croft in 1972. I can’t help but smile when I hear the words of that song, even now. I was 16 in 1972. Everything seemed so good, so full of hope. Life, at that moment was simple, all of my dreams seemed possible.

I think of days at the local swimming pool, flirting with my boyfriend, shaking my long, curly hair at him, droplets of cold water running down his chest and me laughing as he tried to splash me in retaliation. That place is no longer there. It was a motel on the main road through our part of town. There were areas around it that were considered to be rather “wild”, so we felt cool hanging out there. Actually, the motel was owned by the parents of a good friend. We would see the curtain blowing in the breeze, just like the song said, but there was nothing romantic about it. Behind the curtain was the face of our friends mother looking out for us.

 20510397The song brings back memories from later years as well. The excitement of trips with friends to new and exciting places. Somehow, the words put a sense of magic into the air, whether I was looking out over the ocean or sitting on a mountainside watching the lights of Los Angeles glimmer like the stars that they belonged to. Even now, as I watch my grandchildren scream as they squirt each other with the swirls of cold water from a snake-like green water hose, I hear the words and smile…”Summer breeze makes me feel fine, flowing through the jasmine in my mind.”

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Spring Garden Hopes

With each spring, thoughts of my garden flood my mind. Unfortunately, the picture in my mind is soon destroyed by weeds, negligence, hungry animals and such. Today, as I tried to work the soft wet soil, I saw that the grasses and weeds are already winning the fight. What they haven’t attacked, the wild turkeys and such have begun to take their toll.

I used to have a garden by my uncle’s house, he had a generator running from a creek, which he shared. Not only that, he often plowed for me when my children kept me too busy to even try. Now he is gone. My garden is on a level spot in my son’s yard, not near a creek or uncle. What I get out of my garden is laughable, still, it is part of me to TRY.

Perhaps I should freeze the picture of young plants struggling to take hold and remember that life is much like that. It never turns out the way we wish it would.

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