Do you ever wonder how other people parent?
Do you ever wonder what a day in the life of a friend is like?
Now that I am a mommy to a wonderful, energetic, little guy, I wonder just what other mommies do all day. Do they play with their children constantly throughout the day? Do they do chores and let them play with thier toys?
Is it weird that i wonder how other households work?
I just wonder.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
A poem
The story goes just like many have before
The act, the guilt, and the sound of a slamming door.
The decisions of a kid, thought to be a man
Become much greater, than just a slap on the hand.
It sends him down a path, few travel, none enjoy
How could all this happen? He still is just a boy!
All eyes are cast upon him, as he enters in the room.
The clank of chains, the look of fear, you sense the evil doom.
He sits alone, his head looks down, his hands are full of sweat
As people talk, accuse and shout, how much you will regret.
The gavel strikes, the judge speaks out, the verdict, all the blame
You should have known, you can't go home, it all is such a shame.
It's hard to hear, it's tough to see
He's a criminal to you; he's a son to me!
The pain lives on, consumes your thoughts, arrises every day
You think about him, close your eyes, and take time to pray.
His mothers tears, flow for years, washing like the rain
His fathers fears, the fading cheers, the loneliness and pain.
Memories fading, thoughts and plans, all hopes and dreams
Are captured now, behind bars, in the midst of silent dreams.
It's hard to hear, it's tough to see
He's a number to you; he's a son to me!
As God looked down, he must have frowned, at justice defined by man
He saw the blood, of His own son, heard the nail drive through His hand.
No bar's can hide, no walls can hold in, a man whose heart is free
For what He lost, upon the cross, became freedom for you and me.
He sent someone to pay the cost, to die for the lost and the weak
As I look up, the heaven's shake, I hear the voice of God speak.
It's hard to hear, it's tough to see
He's a Savior to you; he's a son to me!
All is forgiven, all is fogot
It was nailed upon a tree!
Mark Moore
The act, the guilt, and the sound of a slamming door.
The decisions of a kid, thought to be a man
Become much greater, than just a slap on the hand.
It sends him down a path, few travel, none enjoy
How could all this happen? He still is just a boy!
All eyes are cast upon him, as he enters in the room.
The clank of chains, the look of fear, you sense the evil doom.
He sits alone, his head looks down, his hands are full of sweat
As people talk, accuse and shout, how much you will regret.
The gavel strikes, the judge speaks out, the verdict, all the blame
You should have known, you can't go home, it all is such a shame.
It's hard to hear, it's tough to see
He's a criminal to you; he's a son to me!
The pain lives on, consumes your thoughts, arrises every day
You think about him, close your eyes, and take time to pray.
His mothers tears, flow for years, washing like the rain
His fathers fears, the fading cheers, the loneliness and pain.
Memories fading, thoughts and plans, all hopes and dreams
Are captured now, behind bars, in the midst of silent dreams.
It's hard to hear, it's tough to see
He's a number to you; he's a son to me!
As God looked down, he must have frowned, at justice defined by man
He saw the blood, of His own son, heard the nail drive through His hand.
No bar's can hide, no walls can hold in, a man whose heart is free
For what He lost, upon the cross, became freedom for you and me.
He sent someone to pay the cost, to die for the lost and the weak
As I look up, the heaven's shake, I hear the voice of God speak.
It's hard to hear, it's tough to see
He's a Savior to you; he's a son to me!
All is forgiven, all is fogot
It was nailed upon a tree!
Mark Moore
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