There are countless reasons to love September…

Cooler weather fills the air. Leaves tumble gently to the ground. Their colors transposed from the deep greens of summer. Now painted in orange, yellow, red, and brown.

Culinary imaginations, pumpkin spice set ablaze. The replicated fragrance, an intoxicating haze.

Well hello, football. It’s finally here. Anticipation soars. Pass me a beer. Come one, come all. Let the yelping begin. KICK IT…RUN…CATCH IT…WIN! Then next weekend, we’ll do it again.

Let’s not forget the birthdays. We must celebrate. Growing old is a privilege. So bring on the cake!

And lurking around the corner, the holidays set in. Halloween décor, with a little Christmas blend.

September is truly, the southerner’s friend…

Yet, through all the festivities and fun to be had, deep down inside, I’m still quite sad.

September you left me, so many years ago. I stood there sobbing, tears trickling down my nose.

The wicked Cancer, had finally won. I stared down at you, completely numb.

September was the last time, I saw your sweet face. Every year, thereafter,  locked in my mind’s database.

The months speed by. Your birthday in between. Still off in the distance, September can be seen.

September God took you. Now in heaven you wait. Having supper with Jesus, til my soul takes its place.

I love you, dear sister.

I’ll always remember, to keep our love alive, through all the Septembers.

Penelope

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As Mother’s Day approaches, I am overwhelmed with an endearing appreciation for my God-fearing mama. We may not see eye to eye on many topics and issues, but her love is a constant, for which my heart and soul depend upon.

Many years ago, while shopping at the mall for a Mother’s Day gift, I entered a Christian book store. As I began looking at the different artwork hanging on the wall, I came across a poem called “The Warrior.” As I began to read the poem, my eyes filled with tears and I was engulfed by a wave of heartfelt emotion. As I stood there reading, I saw my mama in that poem, and for the first time, I finally understood her prayers said for me.

Even now, as I read this poem, my heart is filled with emotion and love for my dear, sweet mama. If not for her prayers, God only knows where I’d be.

I love you mama.

Your daughter,

Penelope

I’m awkward, you’re awkward, weird, and strange, too.  What a catastrophic mess, the things we do. 

Uncommon bond, ignited by soul and mind. Intuition and faith, find its due time. 

Uniquely different, yet oddly the same. The perfect definition of ying and yang. 

Tortmented in the wanting of this devine circumstance, more comfortable to leaving things as mere happenchance.                                               

Penelope  

I am a conflicted soul, torn with good intentions. There is a battle being fought, between my old self and the awakening of someone new. The new self is someone I can admire and respect. She is a seeker of God’s will, seeping with purpose and integrity. The old self is fighting to keep control. Change is unwelcomed. All possibilities must be abolished.

Why do I want to better myself? Isn’t self-hate and loathing part of the package? This is all I’ve ever known. Finding temporary fixes, with temporary people. None caring what I see or feel. It is a me, verses them, kinda world.

I’ve had so called friends, they knew of one weakness. A caring heart that gives, but never takes. Men, they flattered, some were convincing. Time told a greater truth and revealed false words spoken. There were signs, I just ignored them.

Disappointment, a familiar, but unwanted friend. Where is the love? None was shown, in all referenced above.

Alcohol, it’s sometimes soothing. It numbs the pain…sometimes. It’s fun to be carefree and to pretend life isn’t unpleasant. The morning after, says something entirely different. My reflection in the mirror asks, “What have you done?” I don’t even recognize myself.

You’re a stranger to the woman hiding inside. The one fighting to break free. She is broken and bruised, yet does the right things.

She has ended those relationships, with uncaring friends and men. Searching for something greater, to wash away the sin. Her life has new meaning, because she is caring and true. It has been a long journey, but she is making her way back to you.

God of mercy, continue your work in me. Guide this woman and set her free. A servant of whatever, you have called her to do. A soul on fire, that longs for you.

Faithful, but still falling short of my weaknesses.

Penelope

While on a walk a few mornings ago, I came across some beautiful purple flowers. As I was standing there, admiring nature, lost in deep thought, I happened to look down and notice one red flower. It was the only one of its kind and it immediately grabbed my attention.   Bending down to get a closer look, I noticed it was in the center of a prickly green weed. Who would have thought that something so breath taking, could come out of that ugly, ordinary weed? My initial thought was to touch it, but everything about it screamed, “Don’t touch!” It was surrounded by tiny little stickers, which seemed to protect it.  The longer I stared at it, the more amazed I was.

This flower was so unlike the purple ones surrounding it. Although there were more of the purple flowers, pretty and luscious in color, the red one stood out. It was different and unique. It was exotic in every way. Even the texture of the bloom was unusual and feather like. The color of the red was vibrant and fierce. The white tendrils in the center only complimented the red, making it more appealing. It was gorgeous, and I was completely fascinated!

As I stood there in admiration, I began comparing people to these flowers. In my mind, the purple were much like extroverts. Everything about the purple flower was inviting and friendly. They all looked cheerful, approachable, and stayed close together, feeding off of one another’s presence. The red flower was much like an introvert. Heavily guarded, unapproachable, and stood far away from the other flowers.

I then began to realize the significance of the extrovert, to the introvert. Well, at least the ones who dare to notice the introvert. Introverts have an exterior much like the red flower. One must be careful when approaching. It takes time for us to open up and quite often, a lot of patience. We process everything inwardly. We will remain a weed, until the right flower comes along, allowing us to feel safe enough to share our inward beauty. This is only done by an inward connection.  Once the connection is made, we then allow you in our protective realm, and there you will remain.

We’re just waiting for the right flowers to come along. The ones who see our beauty, within the weed.

Nature is so facinating. Anne Frank once said ” Go outside amidst the simple beauty of nature and know that as long as places like this exist, there will be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances might be.”  I couldn’t agree more.

Enjoy your day,

Penelope

 

 

 

 

 

 

If I could find the words to define love, they would be found in a poem written by the great,  Roy Croft.

“Love”

I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am when I am with you.

I love you,
Not only for what You have made of yourself,
But for what You are making of me.

I love you
For the part of me That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand into my heaped-up heart
And passing over all the foolish, weak things
that you can’t help dimly seeing there.
And for drawing out into the light
all the beautiful belongings that no one else
had looked quite far enough to find.

I love you

because you are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern but a temple;
Out of the works of my every day
Not a reproach but a song.

I love you
Because you have done more than any creed
could have done to make me good,
And more than any fate to make me happy.

You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.                   

Perhaps that is what being a friend means, after all.

~Sigh~

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Penelope