Today, I encourage all who would read this to cherish those with Down Syndrome with all the love and value every human life deserves. Amanda, and anyone else like her, is a treasure, not an inconvenience, a person of dignity, not of devaluing.
Catch your breath on the wind — Let heaven fill your lungs with hope — not fear. And form your lips to the shape of praise — Broken and bleeding, torn by the air but still singing. Poem written 4/12/20 & Photo taken 6/14/22
Down Syndrome Awareness Month: About Amanda
October is Down Syndrome Awareness Month, and if you know me, you know why I care about this month. Because if you know me, you know Amanda. Over the next few weeks, I will share stories, encouragements, and exhortations fueled by my love and care for those with Down Syndrome. Before I start that, though, …
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Below zero sits a heart Beating Lungs breathing A corpse Living Sun nor rain Can wake the slumber
Micro-Poem Monday: Tears
Tears conceived in loss Born in pain Hot they strike Lukewarm they stagger Then cold Only to become An emblem worn On the chest Heavy but valiant
A Poem for Juneteenth
Courage to stand and speak truth To power that has the power to speak lies Lies within a heart of love for neighbor over self All those who speak have God’s image And God with the most power Speaks truth to those he calls his neighbors To those he died for So we …
Micro Poem Monday: Rain
In the moment before rain writes its story on the pavement — Tension, tight with yearning in the air Like a friend with a secret to share. A breeze, a breath, Colder than before, yet somehow warm. And then — release. Tears of truth wet the ground beneath.
Micro Poem Monday: Standing
X marks the spot Where we stand Apart. Our hearts drowned with grief Yearning for buried treasure, For arms crisscrossed around bodies, Not to suffocate But to grant a sigh of relief. We long to feel it But for now we stand.
Micro Poem Monday: Breath
Catch your breath on the wind – let heaven fill your lungs with hope – not fear. And form your lips to the shape of praise – broken and bleeding, torn by the air but still singing.
Micro Poem Monday: Holy Week
All those who knew You Didn't know You Would die and rise You who knew All their thoughts They still forgot And I with them But You remember And You died still And You rose still For us