Pencil in His Hand: A Mother's Journal of Stories, Thoughts, and Poems.

A Poem, Thoughts, Photos, And Flash Fiction Focus Keep your eyes on Him, on His precious face keep your face uplifted as you walk by His grace Keep your mind on His Word, as you travel through the day go first to the Scriptures and get light for your way. *** How often don't we rush to the world for help, advice, and inspiration? We jump to videos, blogs, self-help books, influencers, and social media. Sometimes, we go to friends or to family as we look to them to solve our problems. We go everywhere but to the One True Source Of Help: God's Word. Scripture reference: Psalm One. *** Thought: Am I overwhelmed with joy as the wise men were? *** I will let the photos tell their own story:)   *** Mending My needle goes in and out, in and out of the denim. Such a small chore, yet so satisfying. There will be a patch now, and instead of trying to camouflage it, I am going to let the old jeans tell their story, with bright stitching, and an embroidered daisy. No, I am not perfect, the...

  Poems, Photos and a Glimpse of my Garden Rest of soul and peace of mind are hard for you  and me to find: Until we rest our  hearts in God; strength will falter, days grow hard A new day to pray, to love and give, A new day to serve, to work and praise, A new day to soak in Your precious peace I wish I could go back to all the happy days: to hold on to those moments, and sing a song of praise. Love and kindness I would bring, and serve the Lord much more. I truly wish it could be done through an old and hidden door. But since I cannot go back, to those sweet and bygone days, I'll give to Jesus all my heart so He can change my un-nice ways *** Copyright: pencil in His Hand *** St John's creeper New growth. (Not sure whether they are flowers or veg.) Protecting my carrots Paprika Looks like a chilli A good showing of coriander and some other herb. Swiss chard doing nicely My books

  A short story, plus more Field of Healing The grim memory resurfaced as Faye surveyed her back yard. Still photographs paraded through her mind: black and white, in keeping with the pathos of that day. In one, her mother was drawing up a plan of how she wanted things to be: perfect, neat, pristine, easily maintained. Boring. The next snap shot; an image of her mother directing her father. Her shrill voice accompanying the memory. "No, George, it must be chopped out. Otherwise it will just grow back again and make more work." And, "Yes, I want the grass gone too. I've called the garden services. It's going to cost more than I want to pay, but it will be worth it." The next scene brought the most pain. "But mommy, can't we keep it? Where will the butterflies and ladybirds live if you dig everything up?" Faye had hoped her mother would miss the wild patch of garden behind the shed. She'd always considered it to be hers: a little wonderland o...