I've Seen You

I think that I've seen you mom.
When I stare off into space and my mind runs free, I've seen you.
Every time I pass through a crowd, I think that I've found your face
When a seasoned woman of love hugs me tight from her soul, then I know that I've felt you
Each time my name is said with a a soul liberating ring, I'm so sure that I've heard you
A meal made with well worked and wrinkled hands and a heart of gold flavors my curious palette, and I'm grateful that I've tasted you.
I sit with my daughter and I comb through her dark curly strands. It's silky and easy, yet it coils by it's own strength. It's confident and naturally relaxed, yet it has a mind all it's own. Braiding it is like plodding through lush underbrush, and weaving carefully through my history. Mom, I'm confident that this is your hair.
The sweet aromatic waft of roses fills my nose and delights my senses. The hairs on my head stand at attention and my skins cools. Your fragrance will always be deeply gratifying
Much like an embrace into a warm bosom and the nourishing nectar from those same breasts, somehow deep down I know that you've nurtured me

As I walk through the seasons of life and the sweet winds of change brush my face, I'm certain that you have kissed my cheek
When my presence is caught in the reflection of a mirror, and my eyes lock into my image,with majestic awe weighing heavy in my being, I know that I've seen you.
Seeking God for strength to look into my own eyes and say "I love you" ; most certainly I love you too.
I know that I've seen you.

Arrested Development - Tennessee

"Take me to another place, take me to another land. Make me forget all that hurts me. Help me understand Your plan."

Set me Free. Take Me Home

I've never been one for being a slave. I mean, who really wants to be enslaved. No freedom to come and go as you please. No liberty to act in your best interest. Then, there are the chains, the whippings, and the beatings. The degradation, abuse, and violation. The brainwashing and the raping. The separation and the assimilation. And, one that is enslaved endures these heinous acts just to survive. And, it's beyond a struggle. Struggle seems too light a word to describe the ultimate war against slavery. The soul yearns for freedom. It cries and groans deeply unto God to be released from bondage. No longer willing to be held down and held back. It's destiny is calling out. Generations unseen sing a song that has yet to be uttered in this realm. The words are faint, but the soul knows it's rhythm. Creation waits expectantly for the oppressed to run free. The depths of the earth wail within and without for determination to give way to the compulsory action. Ignore the mind that has been altered and bent to submit to forceful decimation of individuality, and answer diligently to the heart that has been birthed of the Creator's purpose for each life dwelling this plane. No, I've never been one for slavery in any form. For in any form, physical, mental, emotional, financial, or spiritual, slavery will confine the entire person. Even today people wear chains that we don't see with the naked eye. Read this with understanding. The act of adoption was a form of slavery to me. Money exchanged. Name changed. Origins and heritage lost. Displaced from my tribe, and expected to assimilate and imitate. Secrets. The inner turmoil is metaphorical, and yet it was tangibly real. Don't get it twisted. I am thankful for my family. But, there is real pain that is mixed into the adoption scenario. The soulful rise of determination from within my heart in order to begin my search was like a maidservant plotting her freedom. I was looking to find "home". I was looking to find me...

First Blood Relative

During college, and even after I had my first child, I would flippantly search for my birth parents. During that time, I did not try to contact the agency that handled my adoption. Honestly, I really didn't know how to search. I did not ask anyone who had been through the searching process. I'd just get on the internet and search with the small bit of information that I had. That information included my birth mother's physical description and age. My birth father's information was so vague that I often brushed over it. After I had my first child, the wonder in my mind infected a great longing that'd been held in my heart. I held my baby and she looked so much like me (and her dad). Finally, I knew and beheld a blood relative. She was my world. She seemed to be such a mystery, and I was her only history. What traits did this precious miracle hold within her tiny being? What characteristics came from me and my side of the family? Her birth brought more questions and angst than that of a typical birth with known heritage. She became my treasure, yet the void in my soul deepened. I felt lost. Not knowing my history made me feel as though I had no anchor. I wanted to know who I was and where I came. And now I wanted my daughter to know.

Oh The Places You'll Go

I've always loved the sound of a train passing in the night. The sweet sneeze of the whistle blowing in the dark air. The hum of the wheels as they chugged along the track made the sound of a promising song within my soul. There was the promise of adventure in far off places. That whistle beckoning me to jump aboard and go abroad. I'd lie in bed and let the sound encourage my youthful imaginings. Somehow I was comforted in knowing that there was life beyond where I was in that very moment. Train lullabys sang out that it was okay to sleep and dream, for in your tomorrow you can travel far away and be free. Your ticket awaits. You need only seize it and believe it. The pressure of this strong metal beast passing through the night,  resonated deeply in my spirit. With a deep breath and a smile on my face, I'd fall asleep happy and cozy.