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My good intentions and lazy kids.

 

imageI awoke this morning ready for war, ready to kick some ass. I was going to stomp through this day, defeating everything needing to be defeated. I was going to be all the Spartans rolled into one fearsome beast of a stay-at-home mom, tearing across the landscape of my home. Anything standing in my path would be a-nni-hil-at-ed.

To ready for battle I sipped a cup of hot, strength nectar and then another. Caffeinated warriors are un-frickin-stoppable, right? I donned my armor, pinned back my hair, touched up with just a bit of war paint because, I don’t know, reasons, and . . . checked my blog.

I don’t know what happened after that. I had to attend to it. Facebook said I had notifications, so the obvious course of action was to rid myself of their distraction. There were a few things that needed to be liked. I accidentally clicked on the Pinterest icon, good thing too, there were several helpful tips that would certainly aid me in what I knew was going to be a full day of fighting.

By this time, the nectar of strength was wearing off so I had to recharge. While waiting for it to work the magic it always works, I fell into a sleep-like trance, the enemy must have poisoned me. By the time I looked at the clock I realized it was too late in the day to engage my foes with any chance of success.

Tomorrow is another day.

The laundry is piled high
the dishes are still soaking,
dust bunnies have invaded,
and I’m having trouble coping.

Something in the fridge
has really started stinking,
I thought the kids would clean it,
that’s what I get for thinking.

I asked them very nicely,
I said I’d give them money,
I guess they must have thought,
I was trying to be funny.

I suppose if they want to eat
or have clean clothes to wear,
they’ll get up off their butts,
and start to do their share.

I realize I’m delusional
But I kind of have to be,
because somewhere in this mess
I think I lost my sanity.

Crystal R.Cook

I wish you knew you were wrong.

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You judged me,
quite unfairly,
I might add.
You noticed my tattoos,
your face showed
your disdain.
You made assumptions
regarding who I must be
based soley on
beliefs of your own.
I heard you comment about
“people like her”
and I wanted to ask
just what you mean
when you talk about
people like me.
I wanted to tell you
about who I am,
about the love in my heart,
the faith that I have.
I wear more than
my art on my sleeve.
I took a good look
at what you’re
showing the world,
the designer labels
you made certain I saw.
The way you took out your phone
like you were showing it off.
Is there a reason you carry
your Victorias Secret bag
instead of leaving it in the car?
You do realize we are both
standing in line at Wal Mart,
don’t you?
The look on your face
when I smiled at you
tells me what kind
of person you are.

Crystal R. Cook

Coffee shop witness.

My heart was touched today by an unexpected kindness I was blessed to be witness to . . . I went to the coffee shop to write, I wasn’t intending to document my time there, sometimes we choose what to write, sometimes we write what chooses us.

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I’m watching the world from a cozy corner of the coffee shop. On hot days like this everyone orders iced coffees and teas, except the older folk, they seem to be sticking to good old hot coffee, nothing fancy. I’m glad they do, a mocha frappucino just doesn’t have the delightful aroma only a freshly brewed cup of coffee can hold.

It’s busy today. Usually I make a hasty retreat home when all the tables are filled and the line is long, but today the people have captivated me. I don’t wish to speak to them mind you, just watching them suits me fine. It’s kind of a hobby I suppose you could say. You learn a lot about human nature by observing the people around you.

I feel like a documentarian hidden from some undiscovered tribe in some far off mountain jungle, taking notes for what will be a fascinating new Discovery Chanel exclusive. Except if I was, I think I’d just leave them be, why risk them being invaded by what we call humanity. Perhaps our world has me feeling a bit jaded today, I wouldn’t mind being part of a tribe far removed from civilization to be honest, it’s getting difficult to find much civility these days.

Enough with the noises in my own mind . . . A woman just walked in, she looks a bit disheveled and a lot perturbed, sort of how I look after cleaning house all morning actually. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily as she took her place in line. She isn’t the only one here with their grumpy face on, it’s a shame, I wonder if they realize what a beautiful day it is. Maybe they are jaded as well.

A middle-aged man trying unsuccessfully to look like a younger version of himself just took out his earbuds to ask why there aren’t more people behind the counter. There are four of them back there, two on the registers and two making drinks. I don’t think there’s enough elbow room for another. It looks like the grumpy lady is leaving. Only three people left in front of her too. I’m going to whisper a prayer for her, she needs a blessing today. Maybe two.

Ah, loud talking cell phone man has made an entrance. There is always a loud talking someone on a cell phone these days. It seems he has a Dr. Appointment a 3:00 to get his cholesterol checked and needs to stop by the store for some bread. He has plans for the weekend so he won’t be able to make it even though he really wanted to be there. For some reason I think loud cell phone man is fibbing. He’s probably going to forget the bread.

Oh, grumpy lady has returned, she still looks annoyed, but with one person in line now maybe she’ll stay long enough to order. She keeps looking at her phone and frowning at it, she can’t seem to keep her foot from tapping. There is an air of expectant worry about her. Maybe three blessings today would be best.

I find myself drawn to one girl in particular, a lovely young lady so self-conscious about her weight she draws attention to it by tugging and shifting her clothes with every breath. She has no idea she is the most beautiful girl in the room. She noticed me looking and tried to shrink into the wall. I smiled, but I don’t know if she saw me. Her clothes and bright red hair seem to scream for attention, but her eyes don’t reflect the same need. I hope someone tells her she’s beautiful today.

Everyone not completely glued to an electronic screen of some sort is looking toward the homeless man who just came in. He makes his temporary home behind the strip mall around the corner, I’ve seen him here before. He’s waiting in line to ask for some water. Depending on who answers and what kind of day they are having he may not be given any.

Sophia, formerly known as grumpy lady, has just picked up her tea, I would have thought she was a coffee drinker. You just never know. She is watching the homeless man as well. The girl at the register just turned him away.

Several minutes have passed since the homeless man was told if he was not a paying customer he would have to leave. I had to stop watching and writing for a spell. People surprise me sometimes. When Sophia saw him turn to leave she reached out for his arm. When he looked up from the floor she offered her drink to him, she said, “I haven’t taken a drink yet.”

He shook his head no, but she smiled and he accepted the kindness. I found myself wiping my eyes as he walked out the door. Sophia returned to the line she seemed so frustrated with before. There were four people ahead of her, every one of them let her pass to the front. The girl behind the register said, “You know, you can’t help them all.” Sophia handed her a five dollar bill and said, “No, but you could have helped him.” Still wiping my eyes I smiled at her as she walked by, she smiled back. A man sitting a few tables from the door got up and opened it for her. I thanked God for getting to those blessings so quickly.

I’ve learned things are not always what they seem, people are often more than we expect them to be, sometimes they are less. Sometimes they just need someone to be kind, to look past their grumpy expression, their weight, their manner of dress, their color, their status, their extroverted nature or their introverted nature, and see the person beneath it all.

I love sitting here at the coffee shop, just watching the people.

Gather them.

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Today became yesterday
before I knew it had passed,
I pray my sweet memories
of each moment will last.
When tomorrow arrives
I will cherish the day,
for I know that it too
will pass quickly away.
In the midst of a moment
precious memories are made,
we wrap them in love,
in hopes they won’t fade.
We gather them up,
tuck them safely away,
inside of our hearts
to look back on someday.

Crystal R. Cook

I remember writing this years ago, I recall just how I felt in the moment. I’d had a moment of heartbreaking realization, time is fleeting. I could not believe how fast my children had grown. They were still babies really, some days it feels like it was only yesterday.

Time really is fleeting.

Did you know you can change the world?

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The power to give and help and bring change is within us all. I am not unique; I try to do what I can when I can as do thousands of others everyday. I’ve seen people reach out, perhaps without even realizing they are adding value to humanity. The man who helps an elderly woman empty her groceries in the checkout line at the market has added value to humanity. The woman who extends her hand in friendship to someone without a friend has added value to humanity.

When I was a small child my mother would tell me I was going to make the world a better place and I believed her because she was one who made the world a better place. I learned well watching my mother as I grew. I learned to value others, to share what I could and do no harm. She was selfless, not a martyr by any means, but there were many times she went without for the sake of another. I remember thinking she was an angel. She hid her wings well.

imageShe taught me to value life and love and freedom. She taught me to share and care and have faith. She looked me in my eyes and said she believed in me. She really did think I would make the world a better place and I have tried every day since to do just that. The values and the morals she taught me have been with me all my life through, I’ve always tried to be true to them, in doing so I was being true to myself and honoring my mother. I knew I needed to be an example, I knew if I wanted others to learn the lessons my mother had gifted me with, I had to do more than simply live a good life.

I was open with my faith, never afraid to be witness through both word and deed. Actions often speak louder than words and I wanted to be heard. As the years passed I did what I could to help others, but it wasn’t until I had a child of my own did I truly understand everything my mother had said to me. When I looked at him, I simply knew he would one day change the world. I raised him and taught him as my mother had taught me and he grew to be a good man. I saw the same thing in the eyes of each of my children. They are my greatest contributions to humanity. They showed me a world within our world. I never knew such a place existed until I saw it in their eyes. Two of my sons are challenged, bright and wonderful, but challenged with ups and downs of Autism and Bipolar.

I was told they would never do the things they can do. They have surpassed expectations once had of them and overcome limitations once placed on them. Together we use what we have learned to help others. We volunteer our time and our hearts to not only the autistic community, but the world. Eradicating ignorance is their platform. I spend my days educating, helping and healing parents who are where I once was. They spend time mentoring their children, showing them the potential they have, teaching them to accept themselves and be strong and proud of who they are.

I share all I have learned while learning more still as I continue along this amazing journey. Sometimes I admit to tiring of it all. Answering questions and trying to undo damage and misunderstanding caused by an uniformed world isn’t always easy. My heart has hurt and my tears have fallen, just when I think I cannot make a difference, when that little voice whispers into my heart telling me I’m wasting my time, telling me I am fooling myself to think any of it matters I’ll open my mail to a heartfelt thank you from someone my words have touched.

There was a day I almost quit; divine intervention had other plans for me. I received a letter fromimage a mother I’d helped through a difficult time in her life, in the letter she thanked me and thanked my son. She said everything had changed since we’d last spoken. They found what we had found and she was thanking me for it. In closing, she wrote the words that have kept me going during those moments I’ve found myself wanting to quit. At the bottom of the page it was written, “You and your son have changed our entire world and made it a better place,” I held the note and heard the words my mother once spoke echo in my heart, “You are going to make the world a better place.”

I know this was only one person but if I have helped even one then I have done something worthy in this life. I will never stop doing what I do as long as I am able. I give my time, my heart and my voice. I don’t ask for payment, the thanks and the changes I see are payment enough. Knowing my children are learning how to give of themselves through the example I set for them, the same one my own mother set for me makes me rich in comparison to many. Any gifts God blessed me with I try to use to his glory. My words I gladly give, my time I gladly share, and if there is anything within my power I can do for another I will try.

It is rather odd to say I believe I have added something of value to humanity, but it is what I have spent my life trying to do. I don’t feel deserving of recognition, I don’t feel as though I’ve done anything better or more than any other, but I must admit I feel a satisfying peace within me knowing I have done all I could do in this life to better the lives of those around me.

It doesn’t take an effort of great magnitude to do something of great magnitude. Something seemingly small to us may be of grand importance to another. Donating clothing and blankets, volunteering in the hospitals and shelters, cleaning messes along the walk left by others . . . all these things add immense value to humanity. Everything we do accumulates and becomes a part of our life legacy. I want to look back when I reach the end of my life’s road and know I accomplished something. I want to feel pride in what I have done instead of feeling sorrow for things I could have done and did not.

imageThe value I’ve contributed to humanity will be my crowning joy on that great someday when I stand before the Lord, knowing I am deserving of being in his presence. The value I’ve added to humanity is the contribution I’ve made to the future in the lives of my children. It is my hope they will take all I have tried to teach them and carry it on, teaching others as they themselves give value to humanity.

Perhaps there is more I could do, more I should do, I know I do all I am able. I know I’ll not stop until I must. My mother told me I was going to make the world a better place. My contribution may be a small one in the grand scheme of all things, but it is a contribution nonetheless. Every one of us has immeasurable value to add to humanity, when we think of all just one person can add it is inspiring, when we think of all we can add together if we try it is miraculous. I believe we all have the power to make the world a better place.

Tomorrow I will rise and try to do something good, I will make my contribution and rest my head on my pillow when the night comes and know I tried. I want to look back upon my yesterdays and know they were not wasted. I have been blessed by the many things of value others have given to better humanity; I simply want to give back. My mother is wise and she is wonderful and I will forever be grateful for the example she set for me. My children and their children will be better for it.

I offer my heart, my knowledge, my faith, friendship and understanding. I offer my compassion, my devotion, courage, empathy and my time. I offer myself. My contribution, is teaching my children to value and respect life, to care for the earth and show kindness in all they do.

My contribution to humanity is simply contributing. There is value in trying to do something good to better humanity.

Crystal R. Cook

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Mothers – Remembering who you are.

Picasso - Mother and Child

Picasso – Mother and Child

I remember well the first time I left my son; it was only for a short time. But in that short time I went from feeling euphoric joy to terrible anguish. I was gone all of ten minutes. I knew he was safe in the arms of my mother and yet I found myself weeping before I made it home. I held him and kissed his precious forehead vowing I would never leave him again. In the early stages of parenting I felt terrible guilt if I even considered leaving my children, it was unfounded and unnecessary, but you couldn’t have convinced me of it then.

Fast forward and three more precious babes later, and you’ve got a mom who doesn’t mind hopping into the car for a few trips alone to the store. Ironically, when I do get out for the occasional shopping day I usually end up looking at things I know they would love. When in the company of others, the topic of conversation inevitably steers toward all things children. I must admit I miss them when I am gone. I like being with them . . . most of the time. I can now say without the weight of unfounded guilt, it’s okay to take some time for myself when I need it.

Everyone needs a little respite now and again. Sometimes we need it from our kids and sometimes they need it from us. Truthfully, there are times I think they need it more than we do. There is nothing wrong with breathing a sigh of relief as you listen to the silence surrounding you when the kids are away from the house.

As a stay at home mother of four fabulous kids who are now  no longer little, I can say without hesitation or guilt, I look forward to those fleeting moments of solace. I can’t take it for too long though . . . I need to hear the life and laughter they bring, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t nice every now and then to have the house all to myself. For most parents at this stage, their nest is emptying. My little birdies have yet to all take flight, they are still learning to spread their wings.

As mothers we need time to ourselves, many of us won’t admit it though. I know from experience if I am tired or overwhelmed I am not going to be the most patient or nurturing mother I could be. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact it was okay to be away from them for a short while. Once I did it though, and all of the awful things I had imagined happening didn’t happen, I realized it felt good, a different kind of good, a need to get used to, kind of good, but good nonetheless.

Once we become mothers we tend to forget we are so much more than mothers still. We are women. We are wives and friends and daughters. We need to keep those parts of us alive and well if we are to be whole. The day is going to come when our children become people and begin to spread the wings we’ve watched grow, we have to know who we are so when they take flight we know we still have purpose and relevance in life.

I think I would be doing my kids a terrible injustice if I never took a bit of time for myself . . . If I don’t know who I am then they will never really know me either. The older they get, the more I realize they are watching me, learning from me. I want them to learn how to be everything they can be. Long ago I put so many pieces of who I was up on a shelf so high I could no longer reach them. Ironically, my children are the ones who pulled them down for me; they are the ones who reminded me I was more than I thought I was.

I remembered I was a wife, I remembered I was a writer and an artist, I remembered I was an individual, and in the beginning these things terrified me, but as time passed I began to cherish these parts of who I once was and began incorporating them into my life. I will always, always be a mother, no one ever told me it wasn’t all I could be, if they did, I certainly didn’t heed their words. When my children are out and about or when the night has come and they lay safe in their beds I treasure the time I have to get to know myself again.

It took me a long time to reach the realization that it is not only okay for us to steal away now and again, it is vital. Spiritual and emotional healing is found in moments of solitude, we have to tend to the woman within, the one which will remain once the children have grown. She needs to be nurtured just as our children do.

Stealing a few moments in time to sit in quiet reflection, read a book, nurture a talent or simply take a nice long shower can only make you a better you, and in turn, a better mother . . .

Crystal R. Cook

The day she found it.

The First One

I have a dear friend, we couldn’t be more different, yet somehow perfect for each other. She swears like a sailor, I don’t. She is extroverted, I am introverted. She is loud, I am quiet. We’ve been friends since high school and I love her dearly.

Now, my friend can be a bit dramatic at times. Every year she has an age crisis, she’s convinced herself several times she will be passing away very soon. Little things can become very big things and when they do, she always calls me to assure her they are not as bad as they seem.

One such phone call left me in tears, the kind that stream from your eyes during a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Actually, it was a series of calls spanning nearly an entire day.

When I answered the phone she sounded angry, then sad, then angry again. It took me a couple of minutes to pry out of her just what it was that had her so upset. We talked for some time, she cried, I laughed at her. She called me a bitch, I called her an old lady. Before the sun set, we were both laughing and her world was turned right side up again.

I wrote her a poem about her day, as her friend I felt it was my duty to immortalize her ordeal. I was certainly not going to ever let her forget it.

I know a young woman
whose hair was blonde
until the day, that is,
she happened upon
a single gray hair
near the top of her head,
What the heck is this?
she angrily said.
When did this happen?
How can this be?
I wonder if anyone’s
seen this on me?
Should I pull it out?
Will it grow right back,
bringing more of its kind
in some sneak attack?
But then a light bulb appeared
up over her head,
she looked at that hair
and said, I’ll kill you dead.
She packed up the kids
and went straight to the store,
To the beauty department!
she said with a roar.
‘Wash away your gray
in a few simple steps’,
That’s just what I need,
that’s the one I will get.
As she lathered it on,
she said her goodbye,
so long gray hair,
I said that you’d DYE!

Crystal R. Cook

The First Gray Hair

Scientific discovery.

It's been scientifically proven.

This week in science . . .

Researchers have have come to the painfully obvious conclusion that a quick knuckle tap is going to spread less germs than a full on hand melding.

My philosophy is simple, don’t touch people, you don’t know where they’ve been.

How about a smile and a head nod while holding your breath?

I wonder if you do the fist-bump followed by the explosive release of all five fingers you can fling off any germs that did make contact. Someone should study that. They should.

Touching, especially prolonged touching, spreads germs.

Good to know. I’m still not going to fist-bump.

Scientists discover fist-bumps to be more hygienic than handshakes

London (AFP) – Fist bumps are more hygienic than handshakes and drastically reduce the risk of spreading infectious diseases, researchers in Britain have found.

The study discovered that a handshake transfers 10 times as much bacteria as a fist bump, following a series of tests at Aberystwyth University on the west coast of Wales.

Doctor Dave Whitworth, who led the research, said the study could have a serious impact on public health.

“People rarely think about the health implications of shaking hands. But if the general public could be encouraged to fist bump, there is a genuine potential to reduce the spread of infectious diseases.”

Researchers were able to measure the movement of germs using sterile rubber gloves, one of which was dipped into a coating of the potentially deadly E. coli bacteria, before exchanging a range of greeting gestures.

The results of the research, published in the American Journal of Infection Control, showed that handshakes passed on far more of the dangerous bacteria than fist bumps or high fives.

The number of germs moving between people was reduced by more than half during a high five and 90 percent in a fist bump.

Experiments also found that a firmer handshake increased the level of bacteria shared between palms.

Fist bumps, famously employed by US President Barack Obama and his wife Michelle, are thought to be more hygienic due to their shorter duration and smaller contact area.

The study was inspired by the increasing promotion of cleanliness in the workplace, including the growing use of hand-sanitisers and keyboard disinfectants.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

You know you are too tired when a fly lands in your coffee and the thought crosses your mind to just scoop it out instead of making more. Ugh.

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The details of a memory.

imageSometimes a memory, long since forgotten, will choose to emerge and when it presents itself you have to decide what to do with that memory. I suppose you can try to bury it deep inside, try to send it back to where it came from. You can cling to it and incorporate it into your life. You can let it control you or you can attempt to make peace with it.

I have tried to bury many memories but there are always more waiting just below the surface for their chance to escape. I’ve clung to many a memory and I’ve tried to rid myself of many more. I’ve found the worst of them simply need to be remembered. They need to be acknowledged and only then will they blend into the fabric of your life and become a part of that which makes you whole.

Some are too painful to find complete peace with. I’ve tried. In my quest for closure I realized a memory itself is sometimes more than what it appears to be. We only focus on a small part of it, the part that hurts or brings us fear, but every memory has something that came before and something that came after. Every memory has little pieces buried within it that can change your perception of it.

The memory will always be, we cannot change what has already come to pass, but acceptance can be found if you take the remembrance apart like a puzzle and examine each little piece as if it were a memory of its own. Sometimes you’ll be surprised at what you find.

An old memory recently came to call, a quite unwelcome visitor. Instead of going through the tiring and pointless process of trying to push it back into the depths of me, I decided to find a place within me where it could finally be laid to rest. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get past the pain, but I examined it and began to find little details I hadn’t noticed before. Those details led me to an unexpected place.

I found a blessing in that awful memory. I realized my life was changed by that moment in time in more ways than I’d ever known. It was the details I sought out that derailed the way it usually unfurled itself. My past experiences have shaped me into the person I am today. I’ve always known that. What I didn’t know was just how much the hidden pieces of them had changed me and altered the course I would take in life.

When I was a little girl we had the most beautiful couch. It was velvety to the touch and colored like silken sands glistening in the sun on a far away island beach. It’s cushions where soft and welcoming. I loved that couch. I loved everything about it, especially the space in the corner where it met the wall; it was like a secret entrance. It was big enough for me and my baby sister to crawl into and find comfort and safety when the bad things happened.

I kept a few of my books hidden there, my favorites. Sometimes I would read them and pretend I was part of the stories. I would sail away on a magical boat or soar through the sky until I found a rainbow to land on. I would take my little sister on whispered adventures through mystical forests of fantasy. I traveled many miles and met many people during my journeys. Sometimes though, I would press my books tightly to my ears so I couldn’t hear the violent storm my mother was caught up in. Sometimes my tears stained the pages, sometimes the pages dried my tears.

I would hold my precious books close to me and pray the bad things would stop. I would hold them closer still when it was over and my mother would fall to the couch, staining the velvety fabric with crimson drops of life and crystalline tears sorrow. Sometimes I crawled out and cried with her and other times I stayed still and quiet so she wouldn’t see I was crying too.

We walked out the door one day and left the couch and everything else behind. My favorite books were forgotten, left to lay behind the soft, sand colored couch. I longed for them, for they had been my armor for so long and I feared without them I couldn’t be strong if I needed to be. A day soon came when it was safe to go back to the house with the sand colored couch and I reclaimed my books.

When I re-examine the couch of my memory now, it is different from the one my innocence had imagined. The velvety fabric faded, the softness replaced with wear. The cushions were flattened, their comfort long since used up. It was the color of carpet when boots have been tracked in on a rainy day. It was a nice enough couch; it just wasn’t the couch my young mind had made it to be.

The small space in the corner where the couch met the wall was barely big enough for one to squeeze into, but it had been a fortress for two. I know now the protection I thought it provided us was more of a longing than a reality. I don’t know what happened to the sand colored couch after we walked out that door for the last time.

I don’t know what happened to my favorite books. One by one they must have been left behind and lost as the years of my childhood quickly passed. I hope they were found and treasured by another and I pray my tears are the only ones that ever fell to soak into their pages.

My books, like that couch, where a part of my past that provided both protection and solace for me. The couch has become a symbol, a reminder not everything is always how it seems to be. Maybe it’s why I always see beauty in the brambles. Those books, my first books, the ones my mother used to teach me to read, somehow took me on one last journey with them, one which led me into the future.

I became a part of those stories and they will always be a part of me. I was given a moments peace in the midst of chaos because someone once sat down and penned simple words to a page, never knowing they would one day shield a little girl from the absolute pain of her world, even if it was just for a moment in time.

I honor and cherish those who carried me away on their quill when I had nowhere I could run to. They were my best friends when I had none. The poets and the storytellers who filled page after page with pieces of themselves were my heroes. They will always be my heroes. They gently held my hand and waltzed with me as I put pen to paper and began my own dance with words.

The pain of that memory and many more like it still linger, but they don’t have the hold on me they once did. I took what I thought represented nothing but sorrow and anger and fear in my life and I pulled something worthy out of it. I know God was with us there in the little corner behind the soft, sand colored couch. He gave me what I needed to get to where I am and I will forever praise him for that gift.

Crystal R. Cook