My son is frozen beneath a lake, I have an axe but cannot break through. I have been chopping through autism for years never to reach into his world. My soul longs to reach his hiding place, to know his every thought and dream.
He seemed quite happy that a white-haired-grandmother gave him a squeeze.
We don’t get to glimpse behind the scenes, where God is intricately designing, gorgeous roses amongst the painful thorns in our lives.
A poem for those who feel grumpy in the morning but need a little sunshine in their cup.
I wanted to scratch out his eyeballs and saute them in a frying pan and serve them back to him, with a gallon of hot sauce.
If all went as planned and I competed successfully, hopefully I would be able to be in the top twenty, out of thousands of ladies worldwide, who competed each year.
Life and death… who gets to decide when it begins and ends? Choice. That word…