This is another post for Story 101.  This week we were asked to step OUT of our comfort zone.  Ummmmmm I freaked out a little.  Mostly because I like to think of my writing as safe and comfortable here in my little corner.  Where I can be my real raw self and write about my real life.  Somewhere deep within me though there is a writer spirit longing to be set free, to write more than just real life.  To write poems, stories and GASP a novel.  

Here is my first out of the pretty, pink safe little box piece I wrote.  It came from the depths of love for my sweet Abigail.  If you know her or have even heard one story than you will know how true this is.


Brown curls dancing around her face

Like those of a spirit that knows she’s free

Big eyes, full of wonder

Darting here

Glancing there

She rarely slows

No, there is too much to do

To see

To be felt and taken in

Stories to be told

An imagination that becomes real

It’s like watching a fireworks show as her mind bounces

From ponies to mermaids to lost abandoned babies that need a home

Then, like gasoline on a fire

It becomes too much for her

“Mommy I’m scared. “  She says

As she presses her head into my chest

Her warm breath on my skin suddenly takes me back

Tiny fingers

Toes pushed through the holes in her bright purple baby blanket, which is now faded and worn from love

She hungers for the nourishment my body was created to supply for her.

I glance at her now, all of seven years old

Tall enough that she rests right under my breasts

In an instant I miss those moments

Her, on my breast

The intimacy of the God given mother daughter connection

Skin to skin


Sacred, silence

The darkened middle of the night moments

Sheer exhaustion, pulling her into bed with me

Holding her close

Drifting back to sleep

Breathing in her heavenly baby scent

I did not know then, as those moments were passing by

To capture them

Hold them

Remember her scent

Her skin

The connection

Her need for me

For nourishment

Now she has a lioness spirit

A  ROAR for freedom within her own aching heart

Bouncing curls

Darting eyes

Glorious, Holy like imagination

Our spirits connected through the Creator

Though she longs to be free

And I long to hold on

We are still one

United in Christ

My daughter

Flesh of my flesh

Spirit of my spirit

My little lioness


“And though she be but little, she is fierce”

~William Shakespeare~