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As the ceiling shuddered above us, there was an earth-shaking, appostrogetic tumult above our heads that entered our whole being and made our innards shake and tremble.

Absolutely everything had been lost. The only thing we had left was each other and a memory etched into our lives forever. What an unpresented Palm Sunday evening that was!

Yip and I stared out the front door into thick, muddy blackness. Weather showed up in a very bad mood.

I was never so excited to go to prison.

Are you in a cage that feels like a prison? There is definitely a way to escape. You may need to give some thought to your personal escape route.

A musical interpretation of the three part story: A Sad Story

After Mom died people tried to tell us she was coming back as a ghost to haunt us. Whatever they did, or said, was for their own benefit.

It was a very bad bad, sad, rainy night that turned into a nightmare. Rain, that is so necessary for life, created unforgettable turbulence in my life.

The boy in the magazine with the begging bowl didn’t become an unmarked grave labeled “orphan.” We do not raise orphans; we raise sons and daughters.

Ever noticed the neglected children on the streets; the ones you see and avoid? Their dirty rags are the reason for my song. The back-up singers are children. Consider it the intro to next week’s article, about such a child.