Parenting

Nevermind

Presidential Election

First of all, I would like to say thank you God for placing me in a nation where I have the right, privilege and the responsibility to choose my own leaders in government.

Next, I would like to thank and commend all of those who went out and voted in this election.

Lastly, I would like to thank President-elect Obama for answering God's call to him to be a leader in a most unsettled time in our history as a nation. We are struggling in our economy, we are at war throughout the world and many believe the outlook to be dim. I think we have been given the tools to correct our downward spiral. We need now to pull those tools out of the work bench, dust them off and get to work rebuilding what we have so devastated in our clumsiness.

Now, I would like to ask God to lay His hands on all of us. I would petition Him to guide us, to hold us up, to assist us and to shower us with His love and blessings. Remember, WE the people, all of us have a new president. Not just the people who like Obama, not just the people who supported his campaign and not just those who voted for him. President-elect Obama is the leader of our whole nation. Let us support him and allow him to do the job we have hired him to do. When he does things we don't like, let's rebuke him with our voices not violence. Let's give him a warm welcome and assist him in being a success. Because when our president is successful, we as a nation become stronger.

Thank you for your support.

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart."-Wm. Wordsworth

My heart breathes are full of men. Sam and Darin are my beloved brothers. Sam and I are very close because there is only one year between us in age. We've been through a lot together. We were very young when our parents divorced. This made us pull together emotionally. As a result we can weather any storm, so long as we do it together. Darin is a different story. There are ten years between us. I was forced to grow up very quickly so I could help care for him. Mom worked at night and weekends. I loved him dearly, but resented him, too. I had to baby sit instead of dating, going to sporting events, even homecoming and prom were forfeit to him. I wasn't always nice to him. Now he's more like a son, in my mind, than a brother. I have three nephews, too.(no nieces) Kyle and Zane are Sam's. Zachery belongs to Darin. They are so special and wonderful. I love watching the older two play baseball. Many evenings and weekends are spent with them. I think I would sacrifice anything for them. They are the loves of my life and bright spots, too. What they want I try to give them. Dates have been cancelled for them. All my friends say I spoil them. My retort is "they are not spoiled, they are well loved." They give me kisses and hugs every time I see them. We shop, play and just hang out together. The most incredible thing about them is when they say " I love you." Every time they do that my heart shatters into a million points of light.

BIRTHDAY MEMORY

I love birthdays. They are monumental for me. Each year is a testament to the fact that I'm still here and have that much more knowledge.

Some of my birthdays have been fraught with worry. Like when I turned 25, 30 and 35. I don't know why, but it seemed like life was falling short of my dreams. Each one came and went with no husband and no children. Now I revel in that freedom. My love can be poured out on my nephews instead of progeny of my own.

One birthday that really stands out in my mind is my thirteenth. We were going to a cabin in the mountains with some family friends. We spent several days cooking and baking good things to eat. My mom had me bake a chocolate cake from scratch, and showed me how to make homemade chocolate icing for on it. Everyone else liked peanut butter icing, but chocolate is my favorite. We made macaroni salad, potato salad, cut up cheese and bologna cubes, cucumber slaw, cole slaw and pea salad. Then we baked a meatloaf and sliced it up for sandwiches on homemade bread. This was going to be a great weekend!

There was one huge problem though. No one said a single word about my birthday being on Saturday. I helped get our clothes together, along with towels and blankets. My youngest brother was only three, so we had to pack lots of extra stuff for him. When we loaded the truck I saw each bag, box and cooler. There were no presents for me. I didn't ask any questions. I just felt real sad and empty inside. No one had asked what I wanted either. We weren't allowed to ask for things.

When we left home on Friday, I just decided to think of the trip as my present. Then I got angry because everyone else was sharing my gift. It was beautiful at the cabin. There was a creek nearby that we played in. My birthday is May14th, so lots of new plant life was just peeping out for the new season.

After dinner on Saturday night Mom told me to get that cake I had made. I was so surprised when I took the foil off that pan. She had decorated it with colored icing Friday night after we kids went to sleep. It was very pretty with flowers and my name on it. There were gifts for me, too! I don't remember what they were any more, but I know they were things that I had seen in a little gift shop we had stopped at on the way up there. I knew better than to ask for anything, but that didn't stop me from looking at the cool stuff. I got a warm feeling when everyone told me how good my cake tasted. It was like I was giving a gift to them on my birthday.

That was a wonderful day. I won't ever forget it even though the gifts escape me yet. Surprise birthdays are the best!

WHY DO YOU WRITE?

The most important reason I write is to release some pent up beast who resides within me, and demands release through the written word.

I write to communicate feelings, thoughts and ideas. Writing often helps me relax. It gives me much of the same feeling as reading does. Much of what I write has meaning only for me. It is very personal. I can put early memories on paper to solidify and inspect them. Sometimes I start writing about one thing and it reminds me of others.

Sometimes writing is a catalyst for healing old emotional scars. Sometimes I tell stories about things I've done or places I've been so I can share this stuff with my family. My nephews really like this aspect of my writing. They like to hear about when their Dad and I were little. I think they compare what is happening in their lives with our stories. Their faces light up and their eyes get very big. Watching the expressions on their faces is a lot of fun. They, also, like to hear stories about when they were little. You know, stuff they were too young to remember.

I like writing poetry, too. I usually write in free verse, because there are no rules to follow. It is fun to rhyme though too. Usually my rhyming verse is more silly. Occasionally I use poetry to express an emotion or describe a scene. I like to describe family in verse, too.

My nephew, Zane, was published in a book of poetry this year. Now he says I need to get my work published. That, however, is very difficult to do.

But, I guess the biggest reason I write is because I like it. I get a strong feeling of accomplishment when I finish a piece. That is really awesome.

TRUE LOVE BURSTS FORTH

ZACHERY JAMES

-Little feet pounding out a cadence on the floor.

-Little arms reaching out with fingers tickling the air.

-"Aun Ro" the little voice joyfully resounds.

-Arms are flung wildly, then tightly around my neck.

-Big sloppy kisses planted firmly on my lips.

-Huge smile like a sunrise against a clear blue sky.

-"Hello, little man!" escapes from my lips like an erupting volcano.

-To be greeted in such a way, swells my heart 'til it almost bursts.

-Then for the very first time in his 2 1/2 years, he performs magic.

-"Love you" spews forth across his tiny vocal chords.

-The most incredible pain rips through my chest.

-I've found a little piece of heaven, God dropped him into my encircling arms.

-The reward for changing diapers, babysitting, picking out and making the most perfect clothes.

-This is how I want to greet Him when He calls me home.

A THOUGHT

Working pays the rent.

Writing satisfies the soul.

GOLDEN SLIPPERS

Some days I have to wear my golden slppers to remind me that I am His princess.

Other days I have to go without them to remind me that I am nothing without Him.

MY SWORD AND MY SHEILD

I have two very good, old and dear friends. They are, I think, supposed to reside on a bookshelf. My friends, however, never seem to make it home. They live like gypsies. Their covers and pages are worn and stained from the friction of my caresses. I keep threatening to replace them. Even my cats are jealous of them, as witnessed by the bite marks on them.

I met them in high school. They are fast approaching their thirties now. They have been ever faithful, fruitful and forthcoming with their combined knowledge. They are never petty, jealous or grudging. They wait patiently for me to pick them up and drag them along on all moves and every adventure. They clarify newly gained knowledge. They inspire higher elevations of creativity in my vocabulary and writing. They correct my bias toward incorrect spelling. They expand my communication borders. Like the edges of the universe expanding and mutating in a reflection of my growing soul.

Many people call my friends tools, like they are implements or utensils. To me they are lovely acquaintances, bosom friends, partners, companions and intimates. I come to them with privation or need. They dole out insight resembling alms for my diction.

My compatriots names are Dictionary and Thesaurus. They are and always have been requisite in my life. The striations of diversity within their pages are poetic to my optical and auditory nerves. They bring color and life to what I read, hear and say.

Mr. Webster and Mr. Roget, I thank you and applaud you. You have brought insight and multifariousness to my utterances and my scribble. You have armed and guarded me against ignorance, repetition and error in both oral and printed communication.

To my friends: I pray your binding never fails and your ink never fades. You are essential components of my referential arsenal. Without you my poetry is flat, my speech is stale and my writing would be illegible and dull. The depths of my appreciation, my devotion are fathomless. Your succor is never ending. Your patience in correcting me is merciful and incessant. I could live without you, but I would be mournful, vapid and imprecise for the loss of your companionship.

MY BOYS

-Look, aren't they pretty? (Yes, I know that they are boys.)

-Listen to their giggles. It's like the tinkling of bells or chimes.

-Watch them. They are growing. They are playing. They are learning.

-Listen, hear their voices? They have life songs to say to us.

-Hold them. When they're sad, they're never to big for a hug.

-Enjoy them. They are gifts from God so we won't grow too old or lonely.

-Love them. They need us and we need them, too!

ODE TO TIKA

Tika-poo, my little boo, Oh, how much I love you. You are my little one, Orange and white patches,like the sun, mar the blackness of your fur. The loveliness of your purr is a poem to my ear. Yes, I love you, Tika dear.

A LETTER TO MY INNER CRITIC

9/3/08

Hello Critic,

I've come to set you free. That's right, this is a Dear John letter from my soul.

My beautiful inner-voice has brought it to my attention that you have out grown our relationship. You have been bullying other constituents of my Self. You have insulted, belittled, badgered and otherwise offended my creativity. Your ego has heaved itself upon my conscience until I am crushed beneath its vulgar magnitude.

I am ordering you to cease and desist in these actions against me. You are hereby and forthwith extinguished. Your voice will be subdued. Your size will be diminished to an infinitesimal speck. Your influence will be less than that of a flea on a shark. You are banished from my presence henceforth. All communication will be filed in the burn barrel with yesterday's trash.

Go out and away from my person. Never again will you be permitted to darken my door with your doom and gloom.

Today my inner voice breaks free from your bonds. She will speak her mind. She will dream her sparkling visions. She will glory in her inception. She will revel in her liberty.

Goodbye inner critic. I will spare no tears for your interment. Your death will warrant no sorrow. You will not be mourned or missed. Your disease is inoperable and incurable.

Revelation, creativity and fecundity will replace your suppression and hollow enmity.

No longer yours,

Rosa L Culp

JOURNAL'S NOTE TO ROSA

Open these pages. Open your heart. Reveal your soul. Heal your life.

WORST MEAL I EVER HAD

This happened as a result, not of the food being bad but, of the circumstances of the day and time in my life. I had done something bad, wrong, or least wise punishable. Then while being berated by my mother, we all sat down to eat supper. Her boyfriend was a hunter, so we ate whatever meat he provided from the field. This meal was rabbit, mashed potatoes, corn and the ever-present butter bread. Now I had had a pet rabbit that had been killed in the house fire at my Dad's house. So, this was a food I was loathe to eat anyway. On this particular day my appetite wasn't good because of anger toward mom. I ate everything on my plate, as usual, except that rabbit's hind leg. I could not even look directly at it. Mom asked what was wrong. I said I can't eat it. (Now remember she is already very angry with me.) She said you will eat it or you will sit here and look at it all night. Dinner was at 6:00pm in our house. When everyone was finished eating they got up from the table and cleared it off. My brothers washed the dishes. There I sat looking at Snow White's leg on my plate, and tears started to stream down my face. I wanted to be obedient. But, I couldn't eat my pet, my friend, Snow White. Around 9:30 or 10:00 mom's heart had finally softened enough for her to ask "why" I couldn't finish eating. When I explained, through wrenching sobs, what the problem was, she excused me from the table, and the chore at hand. I thought my mom was very mean. The funny thing is she never put rabbit, or squirrel, or any other small game on my plate again. The rule in our family was "waste not, want not." If you put food on your plate you were expected to eat it, all of it. Since she knew it was an exercise in futility, as well as making me physically ill, she didn't try it again. She may have been mean, but she wasn't dumb.

AUTUMN FLORA

The rain and snow and wind remove debris. The cold slows the sap. Respiration stops as an open hibernation takes place for the whole world to view. Plants are cleaning themselves, showering away the old fashions, preparing to rest naked under a blanket of snow. Waiting for God to stimulate the life blood within, to regenerate as a new year (or season) arrives. Nature is teaching us how to carefully, systematically prepare ourselves to be cared for by the world as it moves around and through us. We can watch just for the sake of the beauty. We can watch and take away a lesson. We can watch it all happen so slowly that time seems to stop. We can visualize ourselves cleaning out our closets. Giving our discarded things to be used by another, the way the forest reuses the leaves. They are a bed for animals. They are a warm blanket for perrenial flowers and plants. They are fertilizer for new seeds. The earth teaching us to recycle and how to do it. Oh, God is good! If you don't learn the lesson the first time, He's patient and will teach it again next year. Like a professor in a college.

Aunt Rose's Little Men

Kyle, Zane, and Zachery. Just saying their names is poetry. Their voices are music to my ears, most of the time. They are Aunt Rose's Little Men. They carry sunshine and wonder in their pockets and their faces. They walk on air in my memories. Smiles, hugs and kisses are free-flowing gifts of currency. Kyle loves baseball. Zane does too. Zach's game is football. These are my nephews, the lights of my life. The reasons I understand unconditional love.

ODE TO GINGER

Orange and white, She moves through the night. Sees a bug on the wall. SMACK! Death by paw. Little "Wide One" Same color as the sun. Crouches, twitches, prepares to use paws as snares. She's all that matters, Here in her little world. Listen to the sound of her purr. Touch her soft, warm fur. Likes to play with ball and string. Jumps and peeks through rings. Thinks making the bed is a game. Loves when I call her name. My big girl rules our nest. In her opinion, cats are best. She is my Ginger cat and I love her so much!

I'M NOT A TRUCK DRIVER!

(This is a letter to my Dad.) Dearest Dad, I know you’re proud. I know it’s comforting to you. I know how you feel about it. But, here’s the thing…I’m not a truck driver. I am a well-educated, well-read, literate WOMAN with an expansive vocabulary and many skills. Some of my skills include food service, equipment operator, educator, big sister, pipe layer, writer, receptionist, office worker, and (yes) driving trucks of many descriptions. This is a sample of what I DO. This is not WHO I am. This is a collection of parts of my complete BEING. So, please, when you introduce me, “this is my very talented daughter, whom I love very much and am very proud of, Rosa,” will be fine. Thank you for loving me just the way I am. Your loving daughter, Rosa

CHANGED BY GOD?

Life is a river. It flows along a set course. It moves, it bubbles, it follows the path laid forth by the Master. Yet we sit still. We watch and moan. Why don’t we get up and go where we’re needed? Why do we asked to be transformed, yet expect to remain where we started? You can’t win a race, if you never leave the blocks. You can’t be transformed, renewed, made-over if you never step into the stream. Follow your river, break away from the blocks at the sound of the gun. He has faithfully answered. Now go where He leads.

BORKEN PLATE: A POEM

Slipping, sliding, falling, landing. Contacting, impacting, crashing, breaking. Hurting, twisted, broken, smashed. Sweeping, jumbled, mixed-up, trashed.

LIGHTING THE DARK

My soul is flailing and wailing in the darkness without the Son. "Come out from behind the cloud," He whispers. But my tears drown Him out. "Where are You?," I cry. "Holding you up," He whispers. "Why can't I see you?," I scream. "Open your eyes," He whispers. In exhaustion, I sink to the ground on my knees. Spent, I look around. He is all around me. His arms are wrapped about my body. "Oh, Father," I whisper. "I've got you," He weeps.

UNANSWERED PRAYER?(#2)

The Prayer: Father, she’s so sick. Won’t you, please, lay your healing hands on her? Remove her pain? Ease the hurt? Reduce the swelling? Make her whole? Amen Later: Father, I came to you. I knelt, I prayed, I cried, I believed, I was humble. Why did you take her? I’m not ready to let her go. Why did she have to die? I’m so lonely without her. Please, give me a miracle, send her back to me. Amen God’s Answer: Child, she’s no longer sick. I did lay my healing hands on her. I removed her pain. I eased the hurt. I reduced the swelling. I made her whole. I brought her home. She is here, with Me, where she belongs. I will give you others to heal your loneliness. It’s time for you to go on without her. I’ll see you soon, too. I love you.

UNANSWERED PRAYER?(#1)

Help me Father. I need an answer now. Show me a sign so I know how to move. Make me aware. Lightening, thunder, gale-force winds, a hurricane. Give me something I can hear Lord. What is your answer? Is he the one for me? Should I go out with him? Will he be the man You have chosen for me? Will our union honor You? I sit here patient, waiting to obey. Why won’t You tell me? I’ve asked You over and over for the last half hour. Still, the phone doesn’t ring. He said he would call at 5:30. Now it’s 6:30. Still, the phone doesn’t ring. Should I call him? Will that be to forward? Still, the phone doesn’t ring. It’s 7:30 now. Still, the phone doesn’t ring. Why is it, that we listen for a “still, small voice,” yet look for a loud noise?

PRETTY POND

Look at the water. It’s so pretty, yet unmoving. Step in and make ripples on the surface. Immerse yourself in its purifying properties. Go ahead, dunk in your head. Now come out. Leave it behind. Don’t look back. You are a new creation. You are cleansed of all sin. Past hurts are washed away. Your heart is healed and renewed. You are a new person. Go forth and spread the Word. Tell about the Puddle. Rejoice in the Son.

BROKEN PLATE: A DIALOG

“Oh, no! Clumsy human.” “That was a beautiful plate.” “What is to become of me now?” “I guess I’ll throw it away. What a shame and a waste. Now does it go in the recycle can or the trash?” “Maybe she’ll make me into something new.” “Did you say something?” “Yes. Did you know that if you break me up just a little more I could be made over? You know, how God did for you. Remember what a mess you were? You were broken, lost, lonely, crying all the time. Did God throw you away? No, He had craft time. He rearranged the pieces. He redirected your heart. He gave you a new outlook on your inside. Pick up that glue bottle. Rearrange me. Cover a bare wall. Make me into a mosaic. Use me to teach God’s truth to another, the way He used your pieces to renew you. Honor the earth by not filling another landfill.” “Do you really think I can?” “You were taught by the Master.” “I’ll give it a try.” “Now you look just like my heart.” “Thank you!”