Story of Redemption

I wrote this about a classic story. Tell me which one...

                                A man, beaten, broken, a candle at his side.  

His last hope of freedom faded with his pride

This man from poverty, chained to his past, 

Rose from the ashes and glory was grasped. 

A simple act had changed him, silver tokens stolen,

A humble priest redeemed him with gracious words spoken.

A bitter heart turned to love, stumbling towards success.

As he triumphed, now he rescued others who transgressed.

A pair of eyes, no soul behind them, a beauty lost with years of use, 

Ragged clothes betrayed her lies, with no remnants of her youth.

Her dying breaths spoke of a child, with strangers she had left behind.

She asked only for him to bring her little one, her desperation had made her blind.

He readied to leave, to save this child, with a love so strong.

Yet justice, long past, sought to prove his wrong.

Was he to save a child so pure, and let the guiltless take his blame?

Or speak the truth for a man, and let the child live in shame?

He confessed his past, and let the court have its own way.

The heavy chains could not restrain,  his hope to rescue her someday.

Years of toil, the debt now paid, alas freed from years of strife.

With freedom earned and  promise sealed, he purchased life.

A little lark with silenced song, trodden down by life's cruel lot.

He took her in and gave her all, everything that she had not.

She grew to love him as her father, knew no other life than this.

Till loomed a shadow creeping back to send her dreams amiss.  

The loving father saw the man, seeking to un-cover all.

Darkness would not forget and had to see this great man fall.

The great good done could never cover his stains and elusive doubt.

The debt of justice, in evil's mind, was stayed on his account.

A heart for God, he returns, vengeance with grace.

Would cold eyes see mercy, and drop his heartless case?

No, the heart of stone grew bitter, determined to wield the law.

Never mercy give; he vanquished every flaw.

The merciful, now vulnerable, chose one last soul to save.   

                                Even his last free moments, he willingly gave.

Carried his daughter's fallen love, for he, her future best.

Across the threshold, to his sweet one, and into the arms of rest.

The bitter man put the barrel to his head, unable to comprehend.

What was his life if mercy was victorious in the end?

This one, who'd fastened tight the irons, life's goals were now shattered

The other stands with chains again, but his heart's unfettered.

Behind a Casement Window

I love stories.

 I love being able to gaze at buildings and know the story behind it. In my History of American Architecture class, I find myself fascinated with the ideas and influences behind a simple two story home. The ideals that caused fan lights to become popular and the statement that simple windows can make. My eyes now search and identify certain key characteristics in buildings and I guess at the architect's reasons for each brick laid.

I imagine the stories behind a home, a painting or a chair. Was it a young family moving in right after World War II? Did the woman idolize Jackie Kennedy, therefore causing that style of drapes to be there? It's amazing how many stories there are surrounding us.

Then my mind turns to people.

If there is so much to know behind a few wooden clapboards and a spiral staircase, what of those faces around me? Rather than just seeing architectural designs, my eyes look at the people inhabiting those designs.

There are  hands, faces, and eyes that I had not noticed. What stories do they hold? What makes them who they are? Who do they love?

I look at the tired, lonely, or smiling faces that capture my eye. With every movement made, or laugh that echoes, I see the architect's design. Though I can't always see the reasons behind his work, his image is reflected. Just as on each building we can identify what different architects were like, here we can also see His personality. He knows how to align the roof with the balcony, or maybe he wants some to be a little off balance. Either way, behind each window is a story, and I want to know them.

The Waters of Passing Time

Do you ever find yourself reminiscing? Thinking back on old memories and stories that do nothing but make  you smile? Tonight I see four girls...four little women.

We all stood, cooling in the pool. Laughing and playing our "Olympic" water-louge game. Maegan stood straight and spoke as low as her seventeen-year old voice could speak, "I now announce the American team: Brytanie, Tiphony, Shaynah, and Courtneigh." We all turned on our valley girl voices and waved to the imaginary crowd linking along the pool.

"Alright girls! This is it!" squealed Elisabeth, or Tiphony. She curled her upper lip and lisped out her words. "Even if we don't win, we just have fun!" We all laugh, then get back into character as we realize, we must be professional.

"Remember," Katie reminds us, sticking our her stomach and imitating a balding professor having no idea what he's saying,  "Be a reader and you shall succeed!" I laugh almost uncontrollably.

My twelve-year old eyes, with the circular goggle tan, look in wonder at my sister and oldest cousin. Being the youngest, I felt as though we were professional swimmers.

"Elisabeth your legs are never spread wide enough!" Katie, falling out of character, states rather emphatically.

"Katie you don't pull the ankles that's why!"

"Well maybe its cause you haven't shaved and they feel nasty!" The crowd grows restless as we share our petty arguments.

"Elisabeth just spread them wider and Katie who cares! Ok guys now let's be serious!"You can tell Maegan's the oldest and she knows how to lead.

We all focus as Maegan (Brytanie) leads the way.

Full circle with no interruption, we silently loop our bodies in and out as a chain around the pool, arms perfectly straight and hair slicked back.
"No other team has been able to do it through the center, the deep area, let's see if these American ones are any better," we hear the gruff announcer shout over the speakers. We'd show him. Katie takes the first step into the middle, one swift, smooth motion and she's bobbing with me following right behind her. This is where it gets intense. "I don't believe it! The girls are attempting the middle with only 10 seconds to go and the entire team's almost all under water! Do my eyes betray me?" His words are the last thing Maegan hears as she submerges under water, she has the farthest to go and no goggles to see. We wait a full three breathless seconds till she comes shooting out of the water!

"They did it! They did it! The American team has won!"The crowds run wild as we jump up and hug each other.

We did it, we made it. Even through deep waters we were together. Each of us made sure the other made it out safely. All our training had prepared us for this moment, we had conquered the waves, the disdain.

Though years have past and there may be no more olympic victories, we never realized how much that has mirrored our lives. Through whatever storm or change, the four little women stay together.