Unwanted

“I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb” Jeremiah 1:5

During prayer for my children and grandchildren recently, God revealed to me that I have at least three little souls in heaven that I will meet one day. It occurred to me I might have many offspring that I haven’t heard of, and won’t know the extent till I am in heaven.
I miscarried my 5th baby, my eldest daughter miscarried many, God knew them in our wombs, Wow!

The lifestyle of one of my sons in particular, could be responsible for many lost souls, I am sad to say.

Like Job I offer prayer for Gods mercy on them, for sins they commit. Job 1:5.

‘After his children feasted seven days eating and drinking he was concerned that they might have blasphemed or cursed God in their hearts. He offered up prayer and sacrifice for them.’

Like Job this particular day, I was offering prayers for anything they may have done against Him. I felt suddenly overwhelmed with grief and felt that perhaps one of my sons wives, or someone in the family might be contemplating it at this moment. How would I know?

I wept for all the children who that day, would be lost to the earth, and I prayed that none of my family were amongst them.

Of course we are responsible for our own sin, but I believe as Moses prayed for the Israelites when they faced Gods wrath, we may stay His hand for a time and intercede on their behalf.

If I truly believe from conception they are living beings, filled with Gods likeness, as each soul is, then they deserve names. God says he will give us a new name as  Rev 2:17 states. These little ones are those of which the Bible speaks, persecuted, through no fault of their own.

He gave me this prayer that morning.

 

To My Unborn Grandchild

I’m sorry precious baby
For the way you left the womb,

For the selfishness of Mum and Dad,who’s hearts could make no room.

Had I known of your existence, I would have fought, cried and begged,

To hold you and enclose you

And nurture you instead.

Our Father, He was crying

Your guardian did wail,

As human hands removed you

And your heart began to fail

You’re little body torn apart

Your haven now a hell

If I had known at all dear one

I would have prayed, farewell.

My Jesus held out his hands,

To take your living spirit

And into his breast he pressed you

With love that has no limit.

I know we would have loved you

And one day we will see,

Your precious unique heart and soul

When from our bodies we are free.

I love you.

Forgive them Father, they know not what they do.

© TARA GILL

How many of your family members are missing?

Posted 2013 originally.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged aborted, discarded, unwanted | Leave a reply

 

 

 

Decisions

 

In my desperateness, I opened myself up

To anyone who felt they could partake,

And I mistook this for love.

In my ignorance.

I cared not for consequence,

Refused to think

Beyond myself.

In my stupidity I hid the truth

Inside

and denied

That this could be the fact.

In my pride and fear

I sought no help,

Hid my shame away.

In negligence I held you

And refused to let you go

To a loving caring home

That I could not provide.

 In my youth 

Thought that  I would be enough

And never faced tomorrow.

In deceitfulness

I kept the knowledge of your birth

From you,

Thinking that love will find a way.

But it didn’t, and the fact remains

That you will always seek a name.

A face

A place

A Dad.

So in sorrow now I miss you

In misery I cry,

I yearn for you

And cry out to a God

Who forgives my sins

But cannot change the past.

© TARA GILL

How many of your family members are missing?OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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Don’t give up!

RizpahImage result for Rizpah

What a woman! What a mother.

If you don’t know the story of Rizpah or have skipped over it whilst reading your Bible, go back and take another look.

If, like myself you have a broken family, children who have rejected Christ and are dead in sin, then Rizpah is a woman that you can relate to

I have spent endless hours and years trying to find ways to lead my children to Christ. I have travelled mile’s to show them I love them and forgiven hurts, cancelled debts, given gifts and of course prayed for them. But I wonder now if I had the same passion for my children that this woman had.

I have prayed like Hannah, and given my sons to the Lord.

I have begged Jesus, like the woman asking for scraps from the table of the Lord. I have begged, cried, hurt and withdrawn. I’ve taken antidepressants, lashed out at those who’s lives seem better.

Been envious of those whose children love them, honour and have relationships with them.

God has dealt severely with me at times over this and until recently I had been going about it all wrong. what were my motives?  Did I want a pew full of squeaky clean well groomed robots?

Did I want the Hollywood version of the perfect God fearing family who beam at their mother and praise her from the rooftops? He showed me that its not enough to want our children saved from hell, its not enough to want them to go to Church.

The goal of our prayer for ourselves is to love the Lord with all our heart mind strength and put him first above all else.

If we aren’t glorifying God then what are we here for?

If my children are to follow Christ it has to be, because they want and desire Him. I don’t want them to have a lukewarm relationship, they might as well be where they are right now.

In brief, Rizpah was a concubine of Saul and becausImagee of Saul’s broken vows and disobedience to God, his sons were used as public disgrace. They were hung in full view as a warning. it is a terrible shame for a body to be left out like a criminal. It was nothing they had personally done; they were innocent just as our Lord was innocent. However they were chosen because they were Saul’s sons. Now this event appeared to me as a most depressing and dark story when I first took a good look. And I thought

“EWWW”. I couldn’t bear to stand by watching my boys decay like that. It was difficult for Mary to see her son suffer but I imagine it was most horrific for Rizpah.

She fought vultures and carrion by day and wolves by night. She would allow nothing to touch her dead sons’ bodies. She also protected the others who hung there.

She laid sackcloth over a rock and sackcloth represents repentance? So was she interceding for the nation or had she hope of the resurrection to come through our Lord and Messiah?

There is little written about her thoughts or words, but her dedication was heard of by King David and he gathered the bones of Saul’s other sons for Burial when the time came that the bodies were allowed to come down.

She kept vigil alone.

I wonder what God said to her through this time. I don’t believe he would leave her comfortless. For mothers, there are times when we feel desperately alone. And the world probably looked on her with scorn but here is where it began to inspire me. It was as if a light bulb went off within my soul.

God showed me that these bodies are the same as my lifeless (spiritually) dead children.
I pray for them,yes, but have yet to intercede to even the minutest part as long as this woman held vigil.

Yes added up over many long years I have cried and interceded for them. But it became clear to me that the enemy who prowls around seeking to devour is just as rabid and ravenous as these creatures in that day. I have to pray without ceasing that’s clear from the Bible, but its clear to me that I must ask the Lord to teach me to be faithful in this way.

Over the years I have met many mothers in similar positions to myself.  One thing many people tell us is, let go and let God! or, give them to Him and leave them there! this all sounds great in theory and seems easy enough.

But I know that the Bible says some things are to be asked for with faith, some come out by prayer and fasting, ask , seek , knock.  And whilst I know that my Father knows my needs, he also says I must share in his sufferings.

Part of my prayers for my children touches Him right where he is at, with the human race. Lets face it many are called and few are chosen, He wept over Jerusalem, He wept in the garden for all those who would reject him in the future.  He didn’t say “well God I did my bit, now its up to you”.  What does Jesus do even now for each and everyone of us? He intercedes on our behalf to the Father night and day.

What a Saviour!

As Rizpah was heard by King David, and he was moved to compassion, So much more is my Father and King a God who hears.

 

The good the bad and the ugly

laundryPosted on March 13, 2014

 Technology is great! or is it?

I admit it! I am proud and a bigot.  When it comes to digital technology I have been a digital racist (is there such a thing?) if there is, I am it.  I refused to learn all the social media and other things out there, because once bitten twice shy.  I have had a Facebook account, once.  It didn’t last long.

According to (Prensky, 2001) I am most definitely a digital immigrant.

My head is spinning from how much technology I am expected to know. The more I learn the less I know.

I think that’s the best way to put it.

I am always learning, and consider it a way to keep my grey matter functioning.  I am curious by nature so have to limit the amount of ‘surfing’ that I do.  The internet opens one window which leads to many others and it appears endless the roads you can take with the merest click of a mouse.

Technology can be a wonderful thing, especially for those who have struggled all their lives to find an outlet for learning.  For those who didn’t enjoy reading the need to be able to read to put together games and graphics has certainly inspired many to excel where school couldn’t reach them.

For the physically challenged there is more available to make life accessible. Those confined to beds or shut in, the ones who aren’t confident in society can now have a voice.  It brings the world to us, and can put us on show where we would never have had opportunity before.  Facebook,Skype,Viber , FaceTime and so many new and interesting platforms are making it possible for people to see family and friends wherever in the world they are.

Cyber bullying through family members,  airing dirty laundry online, some of the things I disliked. It really is, in your face! and one of the reasons I dislike Facebook.

You only have to watch talk shows like Insight (SBS) or Q&A, to see that kids are having a say, and interacting with people we would not have had access to before.  Politicians and world changers can be accessed quickly and make decisions based on what the populous is saying.

However young people today need us to speak their language and many schools are now opting to meet them where they are at.  To protect them we need to understand digital security. Education has many forms and one is to teach young people how to treat others. Bullying is always unacceptable no matter the form it takes

 

For all the advances we have made, there is a downside.  Anything can be open to corruption and abuse.  Hackers, spammers and cyber bullies can make life miserable. Worms, viruses and other nasty bugs are not just a thing for the natural world.

 Most of us know the expense of a crashed computer, lost files, and for some, possibly a stolen identity. I personally watched my daughter suffer cyber bullying through high school on her mobile, to the point of death threats. To this end I guess I refused it point-blank.

The family unit already at risk, of losing the ability to communicate face to face, working families and fast food made it harder for us from the 70’s onward to sit at table together. Most conversation was already on the point of collapse.  

Facebook seems to have made it more possible for us to chat, and twitter means a faster less wordy way to keep up to date and let others know your movements,  yet there still seems to be little relax time, chilling if you like, in the company of others.  I prefer a good old bellylaugh in a room full of people to a smiley face emoticon and LOL or ROFL attached. 

Have you sat in a room with a friend or loved one, in silence, while they texted or read  posts or messages on the mobile?  Just the other day I was amazed when having dinner with a couple in the over 50’s bracket a tad shy of my age LOL, who told us that they visited their adult children in their mid 20’s on a one-off visit which were few and far between.  They left them sitting there alone while they went of to chase demons on Pokemon Go.  Call it a generational gap or whatever you like but sadly I am never going to have the relationships with my children that we had with our parents.th-1

I personally am grateful for Skype, and Viber, as they are the only means I have of seeing my grandchildren and family spread around the country and overseas.  I know I am not the only one left, however I still write letters snail mail on occasion and also add photographs into the envelope.  I guess I am not the only one as Post Australia is still in operation.

Facebook I am not as enamoured with. I tried it a couple of times and have to say I had more people adding me than talking to me.  So I guess they add you to see your photo albums, catch up on where you are at since primary school then move on.

Sadly people are lonelier than ever.

https://youtu.be/rSnXE2791yg , funny look at facebook

https://youtu.be/dRl8EIhrQjQ  worth a look.

Digital etiquette and digital security both ought to be taught at school, And in the workplace.

Things are different nowadays

 

 

It’s mind-boggling the capabilities, and for someone from my time, its more than we imagined possible, Sci-fi never inspired our imaginations the way technology is doing today.

Caution is definitely needed nonetheless, as it is easily abused and we need to keep up, so as to stay protected. How do we keep on top of this rapidly changing technology? I have no idea. But I won’t use what I haven’t as yet grasped, and I keep my settings very private.  I don’t put too much information about myself out there either, lets face it, if there is someone who wants to know that much about me they should be able to contact me personally for it.Image result for no resistance

I am curious, but not consumed with technology.  For the most part it was thrust upon most of us in my age group.  I was the one who didn’t want to hand over my passbook for a plastic thing I stick in a wall to get cash.  I have resisted as far as possible, but in the end …

 

IMG_2532[1]
You know it, LOL!

 

Alabaster

I was pondering this today, reading again a chapter of scripture which contained the very famous account of the woman anointing our Lord with the expensive oil.

Jesus explains that she had “anointed him for burial and had done right.”

I wonder, have you ever thought about that perfumed oil and what it might have meant to Jesus?

We have all heard the sermons about being a poured out offering to the Lord, and perhaps even about being forgiven much, or being a Pharisee.

I wonder have you considered that Jesus appreciated it more than we can know?

Not long after this event he is beaten, tortured and carries a brutal cross to Golgotha.

Prior to this however is Gethsemane, sweat, blood and water.

I am not trying to over spiritualize or read anything more into it, however it was during my read that it occurred to me a couple of things, based on the account in Mathew particularly, it says the woman anointed his head.

I believe Luke’s account and Matthews are correct but the focus is different.

I think perhaps as she anointed our Lord the passion in her and the Holy Spirit would have caused the tears to flow without ceasing as her heart broke.

She may not have understood the trial Jesus was about to face but theimages Spirit did, I feel heaven was at play as she anointed him. Perhaps she has fallen at his feet in utter grief and love, and that’s why her tears were on his feet. I don’t think I could stand under that weight either.

Have you ever experienced the flood of tears that comes during prayer when you can’t utter what is in your heart? It is a rare blessing when He allows our spirit to be poured out in prayer. And can you imagine as it is accounted in

 

Psalm 56:8b King James Version (KJV)

 Put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?

To think her deed is written for all time in God’s word, but very tear she cried was kept a record of.  Nothing is wasted.

Firstly the oil would have been rich pungent oil, possibly frankincense, myrrh and perhaps as in the Old Testament, there is very special oil and incense made only to the Lord.

I wondered if this strong perfume when heated would emit fragrance as rich perfume does when warmed by our skin.

I thought about Our Lord in the garden praying, and as he sweat tears and blood. Would perhaps the perfume every now and again touch his nostrils and remind him of the love of the woman, and why he is here, and would this encourage and strengthen his resolve?jesus-gethsemane

I pictured him with sweat and spittle, dirt and blood as he carries the cross after everyone has deserted him. Perhaps fragrance breaks through it all and soothes or spurs him on. Maybe it reminds him that he is an offering poured out, just as the flask was poured out. He might have been reminded of his love for his Father and that his offering will be sweet in the nostrils of the Father

As he prayed in the garden he saw history from creation to the end of time, but I like to believe he saw me there, and that, the perfume reminded him of the humanity that would love him and would be faithful to him.

This man’s sacrifice the highest price paid for our freedom.  Yes this is what I was wondering today.I know that heaven and earth were at war in our Lord and history was about to be changed, I don’t try to lighten this occasion.  But maybe this little gesture was used to comfort him in moments when he needed it.  Remember the angel came and ministered to our Lord, but only after the travail of his soul. Perhaps my tears are in a little alabaster bottle in heaven?  nice thought.

Pottery imitation of an alabastron or alabaster v 

What on earth are we doing?

adventure bookSo, here we go again!

We said we were done with moving almost three years ago. Got a nice tidy unit and planted a few shrubs. Now we are on the road again. Last time we had to pack our whole life into a caravan. It was hard to downsize then, but this time! we are in a sedan. We don’t know why, or where exactly, but we know we are going.

Keys are handed back, piano has gone to the grandkids. First stop, house sitting. We are excited and nervous all at the same time. We have been seeking God for a long time on our future, and all we know is, that September means the end of many things for us, one being the winding up of our studies which at our age we hopefully can use along the way or find suitable employment.  If not, God has a plan, so we are learning to trust Him more than ever before.

I had moments of doubt, was this from Him?, is it right to do this when I have family and grandkids, people who say they want me around?  I opened my Bible one morning and came to Matthew 6:25, this has been dear to me since a teenager.  I was not a strong Christian back then and was very ignorant of the Bible. However this scripture always stood out to me that Jesus said not to worry about your life, and he takes care of the animals so of course, why wouldn’t he take care of me. 

Ok so you think by now, you are crazy, well maybe! but I opened another Bible that day at the same verse and my reading from Spurgeon backed it up, more than three times throughout that day I drew comfort from other things God revealed to me in His word.worry

You see both of us are not super fit, we have many issues ongoing, we have no home to come back to, and we are over 50, I am not saying how much over though.  

All I know is, He has never let us down! and though we sometimes have run ahead of Him and tried to do His work, in our own strength, He has always taken care of us.

So for the moment its into the unknown, and I am glad that with God the journey never ends.  If nothing else is gained from this, we will meet a lot of people, show by example to our children and grandchildren, that we believe God is real, and we can trust Him in good times and in bad.  I know there is something for us to do along the way, what it is He hasn’t yet revealed. I know it’s not a holiday as such, but He is always with us wherever we go, and just as Abraham and Sarah set out into the unknown by faith, so will we.courtesy PIXAR Wiki. 

...to be continued.

Reposted April 2015.

photo courtesy of Disney©

Measure for measure

“I am the worlds messiest cook!”

Well at least that’s what my family would say.  I am improving a little in my old age, but the problem is that I start of on one tangent and then head off on another and I do it while cooking.

I’m a bit of this, and a dash of that, type of cook.  I might begin on a few overripe bananas to make muffins but it soon becomes four courses at least.  The good thing is I can freeze it all but it is exhausting.  I usually end up giving a lot of it away but I have an aversion to throwing anything out so, it has to be re created or used in some way shape or form.

I have learned over time to wear an apron, sometimes I forget.  Years of ruining good blouses or staining outfits, has taught me to cover up on a cooking day.The long long trailer

I’m not a chef and I can’t say I got it from my mother, she wasn’t a great cook.  as a matter of fact, when a new baby was coming in our home my children would say.”who will take care of us while you are in the hospital?” they adored their Nanna but would groan when told it would be her, they would moan “oh she burns everything!”.  But I think I have a gift if you would like to call it that.  For turning nothing much in a pantry, into something halfway decent!

The only problem is, it is hard to re-create my  masterpieces. I don’t take notes, and I don’t take measurements.  on the few occasions I follow recipes I end up with a botch job.  for the most part I taste something and think

” I can make that”.

I seem to see the ‘loaves and the fishes’ these days, perhaps because I don’t have ravenous teenagers around the table anymore, or perhaps its just that I have learned a thing or two.  I end up with leftovers upon leftovers.

My style is not everyone’s, and with the wealth of cooking programs on TV these day’s it would be considered rather ordinary.  Gourmet food seems to be the rage.  I might like the look of some of it, and I am sure the dishes are delicious,  but I see an awful lot of waste, very little on a plate and overpriced decorative piles in the middle of huge white platters. My frugal budgeting of the past sees only dollar signs.

So whats the point of this blog? no idea.

 It keeps me out of the kitchen, so the dishes aren’t piling up.

Hubby is a sweetie really, he cleans up behind me and always says the same thing, “It’s worth it when you cook me yummy things”.  I think he means it, he doesn’t appear to mind the dishes, but I feel bad. I use so many utensils, pots and pans, I have too many projects going all at the same time.  I use every bench and spread out in all directions. It’s fortunate for him I don’t own a food processor, mincer, deep fryer, and other contraptions which would add to this mountain. For  two years we  had a dishwasher,  it did assist somewhat to alleviate his suffering.

dirty-kitchen-sink

To be honest this photo is tame compared to my kitchen on cook up days.

Well, thats it for now. I feel a recipe coming on.



photo courtesy of by Brian Kyusher  Feb 27, 2014 Continue reading “Measure for measure”

Autism Awareness Month

This was not written by me.  However it may relate to someone else out there.

It was written after a very difficult day in my youngest daughters life.  I remember the day in question, she had experienced a lot of judging looks and misguided advice in a shopping centre when our grandson had an anxiety melt down.  We have all heard the screams whilst shopping and seen the tantrums and it’s easy to assume that the child is naughty or the parents are inadequate.  For many families this is a part of life and until it hit my family I never understood what a challenge it is.

The boy in the tale is my grandson. He is almost four now and has at last had some real help. A diagnosis is not especially good news, but for her she feels like all her struggle was not in vain. 

Once upon a time there was a boy. He was so beautiful that people would stop his family in the street, in the market place, out in the woods, wherever he may be. They wanted to know his name, how old he was. They wanted to tell his family that he was too beautiful to be a boy. They would marvel at how big his eyes were, how dazzling his smile, they would comment on his abilities and his achievements. They adored him. He had the face of a cherub, eyes that changed from blue to green or grey depending on the weather and his mood. He had supple, chubby, apple cheeks that were flushed with the lustre of his youth and curiosity and zeal for life. His golden ringlets hung just low enough to kiss his ears and frame his milky, baby soft skin. He glowed with love and life and gusto.

This boy loved the people. Mostly he loved HIS people. The ones that he called his, the ones he felt safe with, sure of. The ones who knew him as well as he knew himself.

But sometimes the boy wasn’t the cherub. Sometimes the boy turned dark and brooding. Sometimes the boy raged and stormed and couldn’t smile. Sometimes the boy was anxious and scared and he became unstable. Then the people didn’t love him. They didn’t stop and offer him sweets, they didn’t comment on how good he was, how beautiful. Instead they pursed their lips and shook their heads. They murmured amongst themselves and looked at him with distaste and distrust. They pushed his advances away and they turned their backs. They spoke harshly of his family and of his home.

The boy didn’t understand and he couldn’t grasp the reason for the change. Why was it that when he was hurting and scared and anxious that he wasn’t beautiful? Was he bad? Was something broken in him?

So the boy tried to be “good”. He decided that he would change who he was so that people would always love him. So they would always think he was beautiful and worthy. He watched and waited; he took note of the things that people seemed to like about him, the things that they found worthwhile. Then he would do those things but he did them with GUSTO. But this didn’t work. People got mad at his big hugs that became too hard, too long. People got tired of hearing him talk because he talked TOO MUCH. People pushed him away and yelled at him to leave their babies alone when he tried to cuddle or pick them up.

The boy was lost. He was sad, confused and lonely. The boy loved so much, so deeply. He wanted life to be just so, he wanted his people to be around him and love him. The boy was crushed. He heard them talking when they thought he couldn’t hear or understand. He heard them whisper things like “bad” and “different” and “difficult”. He heard them compare him to the other children in their lives, he couldn’t grasp why they spoke of him positively but then ended their explanations of him with those ugly words, the words that made his cheeks burn with shame and confusion.

The boy’s mother loved him so much, every time she looked at him her heart overflowed with the joy that she felt surely couldn’t be owed to one person. He was everything that she had ever wanted and more. So when people turned away from him, when they pursed their lips and shook their heads she stepped in to defend him. She explained about his anxiety and his fears. She told about his different personality and the hardships they introduced for him. She tried to show them that it was ok to love him all of the time. But the people wouldn’t listen. The people told her that he didn’t have any problems or excuses. They told her he was bad, that he was cruel and wrong. They told her that she wasn’t doing her job, that she should smack the boy, or smack him harder. They told her that she should punish the boy differently for his emotions and his actions. The mother knew this wasn’t true but she pretended to listen, she pretended to take it in. then when the people would leave she would take the boy into her lap, she would stroke his curly head and she would whisper to him “I love you now, I love you always and forever. You are a good boy, you are a smart boy, you are important and you are loved. More then anything, you are YOU.” The boy would hold her face in his hands, look into her eyes and say “I love you forever and always too mum”.

But this isn’t a fairytale. This story is my life. That boy is my son. Its easier for me to write about this as if it is a made up story in some place “far far away” but the fact is that this is happening here, its happening now, and pretending its imaginary doesn’t make those angry looks, those condescending comments about my parenting sting any less.

Jack struggles daily with life. There isn’t a label for how he is (although too many have tried to put one on him…or several.. anything that would seem to fit.) Jack is just Jack. That’s what those of us who know him best say. I don’t need a label to tell me that my son is different. But different isn’t always bad.

Not everything needs to be categorized, not everything needs to fit. Life is not a puzzle where all the pieces need to mesh together neatly. You may not know what it is like to have a child who, though he isn’t yet much over three, needs to know the exact itinerary for the day before he can even put his clothes on in the morning. One who, should you veer from that plan at all, will melt down into anxiety that results in him dissolving into tears every time you speak, but I do. You may not have experienced getting a hug from your child only to have him become overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotions he is feeling in that moment and come out of it with bite marks, but I do. You may not have held a baby who, while he is only weeks old has the strength to leap out of your hands just about, who scratches you bloody in his pain and anxiety, one who cant sleep unless he is being rocked, bounced and walked all at the same time, but have. I also know what it is like to have a child who calls out for you to come outside and look at the sunset because the sky is pink… and while he stands there, face upturned in wonder at the sight he tells you “its beautiful same as you mum”. I know what its like to have a bright little boy who can count to 20, write a J for Jack, who can draw faces and help his baby brother learn to crawl. I know what its like to have a toddler who will always share the last bite of his favorite treat. One who runs to greet you every morning with a grin that says, “You matter to me”. I know what it is like to hold him in my arms and listen to him whisper “I love you always and forever”

I know all these things and more, I am blessed to be his ambassador, his champion, I will always plead his case, though I shouldn’t need to. I brought him into this world, after carrying him inside of me for those long months, and I will stand by him until something takes me out of it, although sometimes after seeing his pain, his anguish at not being heard or understood, or watching the crease appear in his forehead just above his nose when he hears someone say he’s bad, he’s different, he’s not like the others..something they don’t think he understands, I wish I could put him right back. Back where prying eyes wouldn’t judge him. Where he wouldn’t have to conform or worry, where he had never been hurt or heard those ugly words. Where there was no pain. But to do that would mean that I wouldn’t get to hold him, I wouldn’t get the chance to whisper to him “I love you now, I love you always and forever. You are a good boy, you are a smart boy, you are important and you are loved. More then anything, you are YOU.” And all the hardships in the world, all the times we will face together will be justified in that one moment.

Always and forever.jack