July 8, 2015 will be one year since you left us, Ish. A lot of stuff has changed in the last year – and surprisingly little at the same time. If you were here, you would know exactly what I mean, despite your young age, as you would be 6 years old as of last December. You would have started school this year. I always wondered why my gut didn’t tell me it was time to start preparing you for your start in kindegarden – now I know that God knew you would not be here.
Your dad is healing, as you know. He’s healing every day. We both miss you but he’s more…emotional about it than I tend to be though I miss you just as much. We have a “Wall of Ish” in our new apartment – you’d love this apartment – so much more room for you to Tigger-bounce around in.
I’m sure you remember these – you completed them in preschool and I wish I had you around to watch you learn more and more about the planets you were clearly interested in – and you had such potential. God, Ishy, though I would NOT bring you back even if I could – and in many ways, envy you already having passed this life and graduated into your new home, I still miss you so much. I trust you are taking care of Jude and visiting with your grandpa who, though never having had anything to do with you while you were alive, has likely reached a new level of understanding far surpassing my own. While you were on earth, you had nothing – and you had everything. You really ever had one home, as we moved around a lot and were homeless often, but you had two parents who would both have happily have lain down dead for you. We did our best, taught you right, didn’t let you get away with just any old thing. You were so smart, honey. We miss you every day.
I walk past your memorial site all the time. It’s still right there, where you died. There are 2 giant bears and two smaller ones. People come by all the time; I know because I can see when they’re changed around or set back up or whatever. Ishy, though you didn’t meet too many people, you made people love you. Not hard at all, my son – very easy, in fact. The lady who sent you to heaven is in a program for felons called COMCOR. We’ve gone to her family’s house and broke bread. We’ve spent time together with her son who was about a year younger than you. You and he and his cousin would all have been wonderful friends.
Daddy and I haven’t changed all that much. Our way of life has, I guess, but our attitudes are much the same; we still like spending time together talking like we always have since we met.
I can’t wait to come home, Ish. I can’t wait to spend time with you in your current form as I know it will be different by the time we see each other again. I still hope to meet you brother, Karl, and your sister, Katrina, again once they try to find me and I still believe they will.
I will see you soon, honey. Keep a spot open for me and Daddy.
All my love,
I loved the first and both these comedians are amazing. Can’t wait to see Lloyd and Harry again!
Come & See : -) Everyone needs a place to hide away from time to time!
All the lonely people gather here.
The worst of sinners welcome.
Sick people stand in line. Deaf and dumb and blind.
Do not listen if you are rich.
Do not bother if you are wise.
The talented, the healthy, and the beautiful.
No need for your attendance.
He has come for those in need.
Those that have no home.
If you find yourself low and despicable, hated, and odd.
He’s come to do the impossible.
Bow on your knees. And run to the son of God.
I have noticed a pronounced elevation in spiritual conversation, with spiritual subjects (such as a 90 year old man going to jail because he broke man’s law and fed the homeless (God’s law)), his defiance making the news, even getting “promoted” on late night television shows. This is an example of comedians making a point – as humorously as possible (and yes, it cracked me up, too).
But, think about it, when Jesus was on earth, was he famous everywhere? Or was he famous only in places where he could provide someone with a meal, with healing, with raising from the dead? If he hadn’t been able to do any of those things, we’d have never heard anything from or about him – ever.
We need to retrain our brain; find our peace with regards to what we believe and whom and gear our mentality around that, not with a closed mind as so many churches do, allowing the government to tell them what they can and can not preach. What they can and cannot do with their churches, etc. The church is suppose to be akin to an EMT or Firefighter- on call and ready to respond to whatever crisis arises. The church’s responsibility is to put their words into practice, not for tax breaks and to be seen of men, but to take care of a problem that’s only getting worse as everyone fights about whose responsibility is ISN’T. If people weren’t sitting around hungry and cold, it’d be no big deal having churches full of people every week, preaching to each other; however, that’s not the case. There are hungry people. Feed them. There are homeless people. Shelter them and find a way to get them on their feet, starting with the ones who are willing and ready to help you help them. Children should have a home. Stop being so lazy and apathetic and do what you need to do. Stop worrying about the cost. Don’t you think that God will give you what you need if you’re doing what He told you to do? Besides, the reward far outweighs the cost, no matter how expensive it gets (and there are rich Christians so put your money where your mouths are). There shouldn’t be mega churches when there are so many people needing help, so if you have one, I expect to see the homeless population drop and if it doesn’t, then you’re not doing your job.
Yeah, I know. Who am I am why do I feel I can talk to anyone like this. My name is Heidi. I can’t do much, I’m too (financially) broke, but I can run my mouth like anyone can and I have the spirit of God in me and a lot of time to think about stuff. So, this is what I think about, how to make the church better, from WITHIN because it’s a fact that our own worst enemies are usually ourselves. I have to use the skills and talents God gave me, too, or I can’t say anything to anyone.
This is what I want you to think about: is this contrast right – and how can you fix it ?
More importantly, which one do you think God sees as first? Why could you not join them together (combine) so that people are no longer homeless and the buildings are put to actual good use?
Hello, everyone! I’ve been being told for some time now that it’s time for me to write a new book. This one is for the purpose of reaching those that society tends to forget, i.e., those without money, influence, hope.
I’ve only written one book; uh actually make that PUBLISHED one book, View from Within the Spirit and frankly, although it was important for me to do it (no one can take away the fact I was/am published), it basically went over like a lead balloon.
I’m a thinking person. I’m a person of little self esteem though its not BAD self esteem. This is to say that I realize I have intrinsic value. I think that a word I could use in describing myself is self effacing. I’m one of those weird people who are extremely aware of themselves, having been homeless a lot and therefore had lots of time to self evaluate. Having done so, combined with the love and leadership of my mate and husband, I’ve come to recognize the good side of myself – and the bad. I have trouble thinking too much of myself because I’m so aware that thinking too much of myself is tantamount to arrogance and one can’t be humble and arrogant at the same time.
Now that my husband, Raphael, who was horribly injured in a car accident 3 months ago (at the same time our son was killed) is disabled, I have shitloads of time on my hands. I can’t go out and find work because I’m full time caregiver to him and I can’t just sit around all day and do nothing, having been working since I was “knee-high to a grasshopper”. So I write- or would if I could just remove the barrier that’s standing in front of me.
What barrier you might ask? Why the one brought about from a life of being me, a pathetic childhood, my own being Heidi and who knows why else. Unfortunately, that’s the best way I can define it. If I could be more definitive, I would be.
Which brings me right back to the point of writing this blog. I’d love some feedback, given there are so many writers in here.
What’s the best way to do it? Should I write it as non fiction? Should it be fiction so that it’s more interesting to people. Sermons are boring (who here has gone to church and ended up going to sleep through yet another sermon?) while tales are moderately more interesting and can be just as informative.
I welcome your input, for real. I thank you for your help.
Life can change fast, can’t it? You will likely understand why I ask this as you read. Please give me some room and forgive any errors I have made. Thanks so much ❤
Been thinking over my “writing career” for a few days lately. My brain is tired; I have imminent time on my hand as I spend 99% of my day at home with my husband. Three months ago (has it really been that long), my son and husband were walking home from the store while I was at work (the first real paying job I’d gotten since I came here to Colorado in 2012).
Thirty minutes after I got home at 10:30 pm., two police officers and a bunch of grief counselor people showed up at my door and informed me that my husband was in surgery and my baby (5) was dead. As anyone would, I freaked out and screamed and cried for maybe 15 minutes. They wanted to take me to the hospital so I called everyone I knew, snapped into practical mode and for the next 2 weeks, dealt with Raphael in a medical coma for the first 6 days of his hospitalization (unaware of Ish’s passing), setting up the funeral arrangements, and all the other things I had to do. Friends surrounded me and helped me set up funds for living and strangers came out of the woodwork to help make sure I ate and then I had to move to another apartment so that Raphael could eventually come home (wheelchair bound). His entire right side was tore up from his shoulder which was badly broken to his leg which had to be amputated below the knee.
It is now months after our sweet child died. Raphael’s physical being is healing up. He’s about ready to start physical therapy and eventually to be fitted for a prosthesis. Emotionally, we’re hanging in there as well. Some days, we’re almost normal; other days, it’s nearly impossible to get out of bed. Not having my Ishaq around; the thought of facing another day without that amazing boy, is more than I can bear, but I have to move forward. I have to be the strong one right now, though Raphael is always in my corner is very sensitive to me.
Now that things are evening out, I am thinking ahead to where I need to earn a living, some kind of way. With taking care of Raphael day and night, I need to find a way to earn a living, preferably out of the home. Writing is what I want to do but alas, I fear the spark is gone. Maybe it’s fear; maybe it’s God saying I’m not meant to write; maybe it’s fear (oh, I think I said that; must be true!). Can I write? What direction do I want to take my work? Am I delusional to think I have stuff in my soul that others might want to read? I don’t know. I guess time will tell. I have a whole lifetime, minus my third and youngest child, to try to make the rest of my life mean something and honor the little boy who filled his father and my life so meaningful. He’s missed so much!! As to my writing? Only God knows (literally) whether or not I’m supposed to write or even if I CAN write.