In the midst of chaos and confusion, when all
seems out of order, when even the rungs of the
ladder are loose below our feet, there is a hand
that hold us until our steps are complete.

He will teach us and guide us in the way
we should go – Psalm 32:8

My struggle through grief left me hopeless,
I was sure I would never see the light of day
again, remorseful and burdened with pain,
I tried to walk the staircase to deliverance –

I have tried everything
trying to escape, not
able to think,

climbing the ladder of

The steps of the ladder
do not always come in

sometimes I slip,
falling back on the
rungs of the others.

Then it wavers and
begins to fall,
holding on with dear
life, I tread these

steps, thinking I have
achieved, then it
suddenly changes.

My mind thinks in
theory, why can’t they
all happen at once,
and then I see,

there are five stages
in all,


Of all these, ACCEPTANCE
is the answer to them all!


“What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose,
All that we love deeply becomes a part of us” Helen Keller
  • This is the anniversary of the loss of my son in taking his life, and a description of the magnitude of suffering, leading to the attempt to take my life as well. But by God’s grace I was saved, only He knows the reason why. I wrote a poem on this
    experience called – Grief
    Six years less four months making seven an event
    happened. It was never thought to happen. One of
    those things that happens to someone else but
    never to her. A call in the night forbidding, she is
    shaking, for him looking. A child missing, never
    returning, to go or stay she is wondering, it is
    perplexing. Watching him grow, playing and
    laughing, always hoping, praying his life would
    be happy and lasting. Mother and son no longer
    bonding. He is sleeping, waiting for the resurrection.
    One night deciding, plight succumbing, seeming to
    be best, it would be loving. It is just too much, such
    awful thoughts resisting. Nine months carrying, body
    feeding him, a womb providing a room for him to
    grow in. This is a testing, thoughts increasing. She is
    trying, nothing is helping. Cannot explain the feelings,
    nothing is helping, hoping this is passing, there is
    shaming, there is blaming. Back and forth driving,
    twisting and turning, dogs vomiting. Not to be late
    she is hurrying. Careful the right road taking, road
    construction frustrating. Grief succumbing, mind
    spinning, depression visiting. Decisions baffling, she
    is withdrawing, obituary disturbing, words troubling,
    This kind of death met with frowning, eulogy confusing.

    She is stopping, the man is helping, his kindness endearing,
    altars of thanksgiving. Turnings in the road directing,
    storms withdrawing, comfort finding, friends consoling,
    medications helping, sometimes lacking. Eyes slowly opening,
    ears hearing, tears no longer weeping. Birds singing, sun
    shining, flowers blooming, children sharing. Shadows lifting,
    she is talking, she is writing, on paper speaking, slowly
    resolving, process unfolding. She is hoping, to all things
    resigning. All things loving, doors are opening, acceptance
    is residing!

    Sent from my iPad


Only as we look back on how we have been led,
will we be able to trust the future.

“You are our hiding place, You preserve
us from trouble, You surround us with
songs of deliverance”

Psalm 32:7

It seems when bad news is received we
automatically think the worst, how many
words of fear and doubt, the worst scenario,
bombard the mind? Just recently this
happened to me. A dear niece had received
the news of breast cancer, the very words
dreaded. I was dumbfounded, how could
this happen to my brother’s daughter?
And in order to deal with the news, I began
sorting through books, discarding those
no longer pertaining to the path I have now
been led. There were several books of
journaling I had done over the years, and as I
grouped them together, I opened one and
there before my eyes fell an experience I had
recorded, dated August 3, 2010, when Kim had
become very ill, and was not expected to live.
I was awakened by a sound at the window
at three o’clock in the morning and knelt to
pray, I called my brother and he also was
awakened by a sound and knelt to pray. Kim
was healed! Could this experience of opening
a page directed by God, remind me of this,
bringing faith, knowing God is aware of her
need, leading us to trust?

Remembrance of a Father

Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging:
and whoever is deceived thereby is not

Proverbs 20:1

He was stumbling to the tune of a
drunken state, staggering and swaying
to the music he made. Oh the power
of the bottle, hidden in secret places,
as he searched and searched to alleviate
his thirst.

“Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we
endure the operation of life”

George Bernard Shaw

Why will some for a bottle of rye be
willing to die, while some for a bottle
of gin go into the gutter again, drinking
themselves into oblivion?
No one to help this family that was torn
apart, when little children were sent
away, so small, and all do to alcohol.

“It is easier to build strong children
than to repair broken men”

Frederick Douglass

All I know, at the end of his life, he was
swaddled in diapers, groaning in pain
with his liver inflamed. So many sores,
not even his doctor could relieve the
suffering he bore.
Oh, but what a peaceful look came upon
his face, when no longer tortured and
his pain erased.
How many follow in the footsteps of their
families on earth? But God’s quiver is
full of arrows to point His children in a
different way, than the way they were bent,
the way my father went.

“Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of

Psalm 127:5

Now I know I must put the pain and anguish
aside – but by God’s grace go I.

“For by grace are you saved trough faith;
and not of yourselves: it is the gift of God,
not of works, lest any man should boast”

Ephesians 2:8-9

This is the father I loved and clung to,
for I knew no better, all children cling to
what is given to them.

Children trust no matter how they
are treated

Their innocence is always trusting

I share these words for those who can
relate, to know it is not too late for the
Father up above, to take up the slack
that our fathers lacked.
So come along and join the band, share
the song of the drunken man, that no one
but those who have gone through this
can understand!

We Finally Arrive

It seemed like a long night, our car struggling
up hills and mountains, we were all pressed
together and pretty cross.
And then we came to a town nestled in the
hills, just as the sun shone its slants of early
morning light.

Sifting through trees and ravines,
waking creatures as they venture
from their holes. Miners cross the hills
as children awake, scurrying to school,
mothers washing clothes, in the hot
desert breeze hanging them to dry.
The smell of coffee, potatoes and eggs
drift through the air.

Abandoned mines and shafts lie in huge
pockets of earth, among brown crusty
hills. Our eyes big and wide, gaze
upon this sight, the largest town in our

Our ever faithful car, taking us everywhere
we needed to go, finally came to its end
and died.
We never did strike it rich. But through
these travels we found riches far better
than gold. The earth crumbled beneath
our feet, we felt the gusts of wind and
ate the dust. It took a lot of trust to live
in a land like this. Our mama loved us
the best she could, everywhere she went
we went too, taking us for a ride over
hills, bumps and ridges, becoming bridges
over time. This is where we needed to be,
in spite of misery and despair. We were
being prepared for the lessons of life.

The circuit of our travels is telling a story,
one that unravels in time.

One that will hopefully help others in their
travels as well!

Creeks And Bridges

A creek ran below the house. It was up
a canyon, and the road was winding. It
was lined with aspen and willow. Steps
crossed a small bridge to the place where
we swam in the summer and hauled water
when pipes froze in the winter.
The first time we ever saw snow was
exciting, especially being from the city.
There was a rather steep hill and we had a
difficult time carrying buckets of water.

The snow on the trees looked like fluffy
gowns. The icicles like sharp glittering
swords. We played games and pretended
we were ice men protecting our castle.

One night it was so cold we could see our
breath as little puffs of smoke mixed with
frost. The roof leaked and we had to put
pans and bowls to catch the water dripping
from the holes. We gathered around
the stove with our brown army blankets
sipping hot chocolate, and if mama was
home, enjoying hot biscuits from the oven.

There were happy times at the
Christmas season, there was a great
celebration. A parade of children,
marched down the street, singing
and playing to the music. There was
hot apple cider and little sacks of
Then we would gather around the
tree to exchange presents and sing
Christmas carols, it was so much fun
and took our minds off the problems
that seemed so bad.

Again we grew to like this town, but one
more time we cried with tears and
said goodbye. Mama said big girls
don’t cry. But this would be our last
trip, for the next town would be where
we finally settled.

Schools And Rules

Little did I know as a child, I would write
my story, that I would share with others
my experiences many years later.

Every time we got settled, mama would
get the urge to move on. I know this
sounds repetitious, but it was true.
We would just get use to a new school
and all the rules, and make friends, and
then pull up stakes and hit the road again.
But we had a lot of good experiences, they
weren’t all bad. In one town we lived in,
there was a castle* pretty much in ruins.
But the walls had remained with a few
windows, and I would play in it pretending
I was a queen in a royal palace, it was
a safe place to be in the midst of all the
*Stokes Castle, Photo Courtesy of Atlas Obscura

A one room school had mean ornery kids,
they made fun of us, but then they began to
like us. We played kick the can and had
lots of fun. The teachers were kind and
gave us honey grahams with peanut butter.
I can still remember how good they tasted,
especially not having breakfast. Then one
more time mama decides to move on, back
into the little car we went. Don’t ask me
how we all fit in with our old black Chow
and now a couple of kittens. Summer quickly
passes and then onto fall and winter. We
really needed a place to stay, and mama
swung a deal. She was always clever at
that and we moved into one more mining
It didn’t have much in it but a potbellied stove
and a couple of mattresses, with an old red
quilt with big stitches someone must have
forgotten in the rush for gold.

It had four small rooms with an old lean to shed
on the back, a kitchen with a green wood stove.
When we were lucky mama baked bread and we
were happy. Then we would get french toast
and bread pudding if there was any left.

We were happy when mama was home!