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Heb.1:14: Are not all angels ministering spirits to serve those who will inherit salvation
Heb. 13:2: Do not forget to entertain strangers for by doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.
I know the creation of life between a husband and wife is a precious gift from God. Through our love for each other, He blesses us with a human baby designed and created by Him, but put together as a reminder of who we are in special ways. He also created the angels long before He created the human race. I want to keep this separated because His word tells us their are angels, and then the creation of human life. The Lord took me and my family to a place a few years ago. I was 39 going on 40 and for 41/2 months, I really believe we came as close as we will ever come to touch an angel. Though I know it is not so, God gave us a glimpse through a little one, 4 1/2 months in my womb. "His precious creation of an Angel."

She was the smallest angel we ever saw
Almost a pound, and ten and a half inches tall
Cradled in her fathers hand, her head rested on his finger tips
While her little legs dangled at his wrist
Sound asleep in eternal rest
Her eyes sewn shut like a puppy dog pup
Her body so perfect with its small detail
As I counted her fingers and toes, I noticed her little nails
Her eye brows were beginning to grow
Along with her ears, lips and little nose
They were all there in a distinct array
In time the Master could have finished our clay
For reason we do not know
The Master decided to finish it as not earthy works
Only in heavenly places, that are unknown
I think she was the only and smallest angel we'll ever touch
I just wish we had her for a little more time
We are longing and looking forward to the day we will all arrive
My first agenda on that very special day
Will be see how He finished our little clay

To Mama and my beloved Daddy
written in the 1980's
As the time has past
The past has not been erased
The years of childhood so embedded in place
And as time has gone by, not one memory has gone to waste
It seems there has not been any space in time
In which my mind can't still trace
It was yesterday the smell of spring and "Oh" how the birds did sing
On my childhood playground, I can still hear the sounds-so dear and very precious of my past.

To my Brother Jamey
(do not think he has ever read this)
written in the 1980's 
I wish we could go back in time and erase all the hurt
Oh! if only it would work
Clear our minds and see that time
Our love, our strengths and our goals in which we seeked
But we are here today, but only for a short stay
Life is so short and precious to live only on the hurt
If we never forgive their was no past, it meant nothing if our love has been lost
If we cannot find it?
Who's to win or loose?
What is left after we are gone
We have the memories of the past, good and bad
But here is what is so sad
We will not have any memories of the present or future if we do not
try to suture the wounds.
update: My prayer was answered "In His Time"

The following poem was inspired to encourage a young lady I have known since she was a little girl.
She has lyme disease that went undiagnosed for many years. I call her my "spiritual daughter" because
I love her as a daughter and she through her illness has taught me so much spiritually. The poem was inspired as I toiled for a year in the seasons of yard work.
Wherever you are in life or wherever life takes you, remember the story of my four o'clocks.

I know your road has not been easy lately and the future at times unsure
That is why I am giving you this four o'clock to plant as a reminder of our Father's sovereign love
I learned of this hardy flowering plant one growing season a few years back
My garden plot of four o'clock needed thinning and when I dug up the roots, I put them in a sack
Not knowing what to do with them, I carried them to the fall burn pile
Among the broken and clipped branches, pine straw and leaves
I tossed in the roots of unwanted four o'clocks to burn with all these things
The fire was hot as Hades as it smoldered through the night
It's heat consuming all the yard trash was my goal in this plight
I noticed among the red embers the four o'clock roots showing through
Seems they were smoking in the red hot flames; not losing shape or even wasting away
A little perplexed in what to do, I buried them deeper in the coals
They just smoldered and smoked as the embers slowly burned out
And laying among the ashes from clipped branches, pine straw and leaves
I was puzzled in what to do so I left the pile and said to myself "I'll just wait and see"
The winter season came and went, spring clean up was my next event
To the burn pile with many things, I noticed the four o'clock roots still to be seen
I started it all over with the fire as hot as Hades and continued to notice
My four o'clocks roots smoldering in the fiery breeze
A red-hot scene of embers, then ashes was all that was left
Except the roots of my four o'clocks, they lay among the wreck of ashes still in tact
The early summer season was then at hand
All the birds were singing and new life was blooming in my sight
I noticed in my burn pile a green plant growing up searching for light
As the days and weeks of summer unfolded, the green plant grew in leaps and bounds
Soon came the sweet aroma of the four o'clocks, from the ashes of the burn pile
They sang out to the hummingbirds and butterflies
Come unto me for I give you food and rest
Because my Lord is using me as I have made it through the test.

Note: The attributes of an old-fashioned plant named four o'clock have become
more important because of the changing environmental adversities that have been experienced by the
southern gardening public. Southern Gardeners need a plant which will:
  • flourish in periods of severe droughts & water restrictions
  • will bloom in less than full sunlight situations
  • is deer & rabbit tolerant
  • is fragrant
  • is a long-lived tuberous perennial and reseeding annual
  • is one of a very few hummingbird & butterfly plant

 A painting on my barn a dear friend did for me of my four o'clocks

    This poem I wrote to my hubby (Jim) in the 1990’s
    It is called, A Daughter’s Love and the title sounds confusing since the poem is written to my husband and not my father. I lost my father when I was 14 going on 15 and he was my “everything.”  Jim never met him, though Jim has come to know him through my memories, as well as memories of family and friends. They threw away the key when God created my dad. This was a hard order at times for Jim to live up to another man in my life that I loved deeply.
    Growing up is a mighty task
    From infancy we look up and model those who
    Conquered life with an inspiring blast
    One such person in my life you will see
    Is my love for my daddy with the little girl in me
    He was my protector and provider
    With my eyes life could not be brighter
    He was not perfect and he failed many times
    But as his daughter this was no crime
    My love was unconditional from the very start
    It was heaven sent with a special cart
    Loads of love and laughter were always in full speed
    Along with times of sorrow he tried to carry me
    A legacy one so hard to compare
    This man of strength and ambition seems so rare
    With a great love for life
    God for some reason shortened his flight
    As a young man he received the gift of eternal life
    Me being a child of just barely a teen
    Lost so much it seemed like a bad dream
    My mind so young could not take in the loss
    Even understand the great cost
    Now I am a women, but not very old
    With streams of times warm and cold
    I look back to my daddy and me
    This time I see through eyes of maturity
    I’ve learned from those of old his path in life
    Who were there when he cried his first right to life
    Life for him was just like us all
    A difficult test built with many walls
    Born a baby-grew to a child and onto being a teenager
    With many not wanting to take wager
    No achievements, accomplishments to recall
    Was a nobody just like us all
    He made a choice somewhere in life
    To work hard, set goals
    And break old molds
    He pushed very hard in all he did
    From sports to school
    He conquered and ruled
    His legacy – one hard to match
    And the key to this writing as I try to unlatch
    My eyes as a child will always see his works on earth beyond my catch
    But as a lady grown up I see the reality
    We all have a choice in life to make it work
    To succeed is to put forth in life
    With great stride
    Realize God did not attend a free ride
    Have life mold you and make us
    In all we should be
    Know that mistakes and failures we will choose
    But no human God created was destine to loose
    It is our choice to look to Him for the key to success
    Give Him our dreams and goals
    And watch our lives unfold
    As the years will fly by and our young ones
    See us reach our goals
    They will look in “Awe” and see our lives
    Beyond their reach
    That is when the Master will begin to teach
    Those who choose to go forth in life
    Are no different from man to man, except Christ
    We all have a calling to make a mark in life
    To reach for the stars is our climbing quest
    With God’s giving time there will be our final rest
    My eyes of a child will always hold my daddy dear
    And wish he could just one more time be near
    I wonder what his wager would be
    His last breathe beheld the teenager in me.
    After I wrote A Daughter's Love I was inspired
    to write the following poem.
    A poem is a way to say many things from the
    Soul of the heart
    It’s a desire from within to chart
    As the pen begins to write
    It is lost in an awesome bright light
    With the message from the giver and a prayer
    Of understanding to the reader as we journey in the night
    In my child-like mind – from years gone past
    I held onto a dream – which was beyond my hands grasp
    I compared my childhood man
    With childlike ways to my husband’s precious hands
    He was unjustly judged and not given a chance
    To prove to his bride – one day there would be a dance
    He choose to prove he was her man
    As years went by he proved it to his clan
    Hard work and devotion he soon acquired the band
    His bride still broken from hurts in the past
    Had a real hard time giving up the grip of life’s grasp
    He went to his knees and prayed to thee
    God granted the patience for him to work with me
    With the healing in motion and time she needed to receive
    God through prayer began turning the key
    As the bride looks now at her childhood man
    She sees a great difference in her groom and that man
    They both succeeded in life’s great windy flight
    With a love for her which feels so right
    In years gone by and time to grow
    I see my groom and our big dance room
    He is all I ever needed and so much more
    To compare him to the past is every little girl’s dream
    As a women who’s grown to the women she will be
    My childhood man cannot compare to thee
    As he has grown into the man for me.
    Willie Richardson
     Poem written about my Dad
    A spring breeze brought the message
    A small cloud shed its tears
    A tired soul – gave up its claim
    On Life – full blown – in years –
    Too young – to live in memories
    Too humble – to resent God’s call
    Blessed by God – in knowledge
    That he was soon to leave it all –
    With time to think – and plan a bit
    For loved ones in his home
    To know how they would manage
    Long – after he was gone –
    A privilege rare – we all know - -
    God’s reason – we know not – at all
    But special indeed – for man
    To know and recognize – his call –
    We know the precious gift of Life
    Was only loaned to man
    There was no certain space of time
    Allotted to this land –
    For death is no respecter
    Hints not at night or day
    And there’s seldom time to say goodbye
    Ere death – see us – on our way.
    This poem was written soon after my Dad went to be with the Lord. Willie Richardson was an old friend of the “family”. She had a daughter name Carol, about the same age as my Dad & Mom. Carol died in a car accident in high school. Willie was a poet from Vivian, LA. She was a published poet. Her book “Soul of the Pen” had the following poem in it....that I memorized as a child and has always had a special place in my heart.
    Knee deep in a crescent cove
    One Spring morn
    I saw a flaming cardinal
    A fawn being born
    I watched a seed of some kind as it popped beneath its sod
    And wonder how anyone could not believe in God.