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500 X 234 Silence

 
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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Sun Mar 15, 2015 1:01 pm    Post subject: 500 X 234 Silence Reply with quote


I got the image from Feedly. The Artist is Winsaus.

God bless and have fun.
Marlicia
with God all things are possible

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Harry
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PostPosted: Tue Mar 17, 2015 10:45 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

How Daisy Destroyed St. Patrick’s Cathedral

Harry Buschman


We don’t go there anymore. We stay away from St. Patrick’s.

Every Sunday, like clockwork, our family would go to the ten o’clock mass. All of us. Mom, Pop and the three of us. Daisy was the youngest and she couldn’t wait to get inside and listen to the organ. “When I get bigger,” she said, “I’m gonna sing in the choir. I’m gonna wear a long black gown and be a soprano.” Nothing was going to stop Daisy.

Daisy was only five at the time and I knew for a fact she couldn’t carry a tune even if it had a handle attached to it. When she tried to sing with our record player going, the rest of us would leave the house and sit in the back yard together, shake our heads in despair and wait until she got it out of her system. Our dog would start to howl and the neighbors would shut their windows.

Well, five years later when Daisy got to be ten years old, Ma and Pa decided to send her downtown to Mrs. Bluenote for voice lessons. I think it was mainly to get her out of the house whenever she decided to sing. It was a life saver for my brother and me as well as our folks and the dog, but Mrs. Bluenote went into shock and retired shortly after she gave Daisy her first lesson.

When Daisy came to be twelve she decided she was old enough to sing in the choir. She got Ma to make her a long black gown and on an Easter Sunday morning she sneaked into the organ loft and mingled with the choir. They was set to sing Handel’s “Messiah” on account of the fact it was Easter Sunday.

When Daisy let go, let me tell you there was nothin’ ever like it in Christendom. The organ pipes was shattered and scattered on the congregation below like there might have been an explosion in a boiler factory. The choir vaulted over the rail to the floor below followed directly by the organist. The preacher did a quick about-face and disappeared by way of the stained-glass windows behind him. The congregation, including Mom, Pop my brother and me pushed their way through the big front doors in panic – and suddenly all was still.

Well, Daisy’s twenty now. Got herself a good singin’ job with the Bay City Ramblers. We never went back to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Wed May 06, 2015 1:03 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Sorry for the long delay, Harry. Life has definitely gotten in the way lately and that, along with a very time consuming activity, has made it very hard to concentrate in order to write, even when I could find the time. I'm trying to carve out more time for writing because I really miss doing it.

I love this story. It made me smile and giggle and I really needed that today. Thank you.

I could almost see all this happening as I read. Too funny. Smile It looks like Daisy got the last laugh. Smile It just goes to show that perseverance can make a lot of things happen and open a lot of doors. I always thought hard rock bands couldn't sing, LOL.

God bless and thanks for being so patient. This was a fun read.
Marlicia
with God all things are possible

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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Wed May 06, 2015 1:05 pm    Post subject: 2 Corinthians 4:9 (WC 500) Reply with quote

2 Corinthians 4:9
©Marlicia Fernandez 5-6-15 (WC 500)

Something was wrong. No beggars sat on the front steps. No line of adults looked for a helping hand or a listening ear. No children ran along the sidewalk or slid down the metal railings despite warnings not to do so. And it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Eli took the front steps two at a time. He froze in front of the massive wooden double doors. One was flung open, the other hung drunkenly from half its hinges. The breeze prodded a wadded piece of paper into his leg. Eli picked it up and uncrumpled it. It was the page of a hymnal singed, torn and smelling of smoke. He stuffed it into his pocket and stepped inside the darkened building. The interior seemed to twist and fade. Eli put a hand on one doorjamb to steady himself. He was too late. It had finally happened. If only he had managed to arrive a little sooner, maybe all of this could have been prevented.

Or maybe he would have been caught in the purge.

He shook his head in disgust. THEY couldn’t leave well enough alone. THEY had to stick their noses into things that didn’t concern them. No matter that people were being helped. No matter that they were being fed and clothed and given hope. The fact that people were being taken off the streets and given skills that would allow them to live at least passably comfortable and productive lives meant nothing to THEM. Because all this help meant that the masses would now have time to think about things other than their bellies and where the next day’s lodging would come from—like how their lives had gotten to this point in the first place. When they figured that out, there’d be no stopping them. They could stand on their own two feet and make themselves heard. If they weren’t heard, they could provide for themselves. That meant less control for THEM. And less control always meant trouble. Trouble THEY didn’t want.

Now the dream was shattered. THEY had seen to that. Eli kicked at the rubble. What could be hoped for now?

He picked his way through the abandoned cathedral. Light streamed through the windows setting fragments of stained glass afire. Splintered wood from pews and pulpit littered the floor, while anything of value had been carted away. The smell of smoke wafted through the cavernous space. He followed it to a small side chapel at the far end of the cathedral. What remained of hymnals and holy books smoldered in the embers of a fire set in front of the altar. Such a waste.

A broken crucifix balanced diagonally against the wall, a burnt scrap of paper pinned between the corpus and the cross. Eli retrieved and opened it.

“…persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.”

“Struck down, but not destroyed.” Eli smiled and tucked the fragment in his pocket. Very clever. Somehow, despite his failure, the dream continued. Hope still remained.

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Harry
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PostPosted: Thu May 07, 2015 5:23 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well told Marcia. Unfortunately it's a story that can't be heard by many people. I hope those who have paid the ultimate price deserve, (better than we) to hear it loud and clear.
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shadowlight
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 31, 2015 4:11 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Thank you for taking the time to read and to comment, Harry. You know I appreciate it very much, even when I can't get to the site to say so. I'm glad it spoke to you on some level. Sometimes I feel like I'm struggling to get my 'voice' back. Smile

God bless,
Marlicia
with God all things are possible

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