Journal for Christa—
When I was old, I found my voice—
I found it slowly and methodically
Over many years,
Years of living with one man
And reading many books.
By enduring hardships and standing firm,
Through raising four children
With much frustration and great laughter.
I found it in the hearts of my students
And the compassion of a pastor.
It was in the velvet petal of the rose
And the prick of its thorn—,
In a baby’s laugh and his breath on my cheek,
In a God who is as constant as the heaven’s guiding lights.
I had found my voice—
But, when I spoke, no one listened,
So, I decided to write a book,
But nobody reads—
What am I to do with my voice?
I started a blog.
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