First Mural in the Making

Life has its ups and downs, but one thing I am sure of is God's grace and blessings in ALL seasons and stages of life.  Sometimes you have to look for them.  Sometimes they are undeniably obvious.  Most times we just have to pay attention.  They are present and visible:  blessings and beauty, opportunity and purpose are there.  Sometimes we have to reset our focus, looking away from things that would distract us from growing and enjoying our lives.  

A colleague and I were blessed with the opportunity to create a mural for our school's cafeteria/auditorium.  This is my first collaborative, communal piece.  This is my first mural.  

#Settingthestage

#Leavingmymark

#blessingsinthewilderness

#resetingmyfocus

#gratefulforGodsblessing

Shelved Hearts

Open Mic

I dare not proclaim to be a spoken word artist.

I am merely me 

and my pen

and my paper

my brush and my canvas are my wine, listening ear, and therapy.

If only you know 

how much I needed tonight

a moment to feel

and just be

and be free

free from the stress and strain of the day

free form the expectations and rules of others

free from eyes of disappointment

free from the weight of my heart

free from the pressure to be 

anything and anyone other than me.

If you only knew how much I needed this moment

this pen

this mic

to exhale 

to embrace...me

as well as this moment, this time and space

an opportunity

to wrap myself up in me

and call it enough

Control

If This World Were Mine

By Ashley J. Moore

11/1/16

“If this world were mine

I’d give you the flowers

The birds and the bees...” (Sang to Luther Vandross’s tune)

If this world were mine

I’d take away every weight

And every angst

Every frustration…

I’d block every hurt and disappointment

I’d bulldoze every mountain in your way

Unclog every blockage in your hearts’ valves

Every form of self-preservation and every need for it

I would be your shield

I’d be your humorous line, filling your heart with laughter

I’d call forth sunshine and moonlight, Auburn victories, and manifested fantasies

If this world were mine

I’d release all uncried tears

And wash them away

In the waters of Hanauma Bay, in rivers of relief

Cleansing waves leaving your heart light and refreshed

Light

And Free

Light

And Happy

Light

And full and fresh and free

If this world were mine

I’d disperse every cloud and dispel every fog

I’d massage away every furrow in your brow

And lift every weight off your heart, mind, and shoulders

If this world were mine

I’d make everything easy…no pain, no disappointment, no frustration, no sadness, no worry…

Fortunately, this world is not mine

And you do have mountains

And clouds

And fog

And weight

I ache when you ache, and my brow furrows when you are down

But

Fortunately, this world is not mine

And with every mountain, your voice has grown stronger…because you’re a man who speaks to his day and tells his day how it’s going to be…You’re a man who speaks to dry bones and tells them to live

And with every cloud, you’ve received rain to produce crops, and fruit, and podcasts…

And with every weight, your muscles have bulged and been strengthened

And with every fog, your remaining senses have grown more keen; for you’ve walked by faith and not by sight

“If this world were mine

I’d give you the flowers

The birds and the bees..”

But fortunately, it’s not and  you don’t need me to

You have everything you need within you

And everything you need will be revealed to you

You are a king

And a winner

And a victor

So rather than ache because I can’t rescue you

I’ll sit with you

And stand with you

And pray for you

And cheer for you

Because YOU are a victor

And this world is not mine

Painted Smiles

Blocking Out the Noise

Refueling

Even Superwoman 

has to pause

and take time

to refuel

and recharge

to recenter

to be still

to reset

refocus

take a break

take a nap

to disconnect

from the pulls of life

to reconnect

to herself and her God

so that she too can have and enjoy life

and be in position when the time comes again

to be able to pour into others

without running on E

without running on fumes

without drying out

but rather pouring out of the overflow

of the inner flow 

of life and rejuvenation

Missing You and Eating Pound Cake

I'm not sure of the best title for this entry, but I'll leave it as "Missing You" for now.  MaMa and Granddaddy, I miss you.  My heart and eyes feel the weight and sting of tears that still have not fallen.  The complexities of life, the swirl of emotions and facts and faith give me chest pains as the "unsorted out" fails to fully be processed and passed through.

Thus, I'll write 

and paint

and process the way God has gifted me to.

MaMa and Granddaddy, I miss you.  My eyes sting as I type your names.  All this week, I've wanted to call you on my way home from work and talk to you like I used to.

I miss you.

I wear your hat and necklace; from time to time I look at your pictures.  I played Pokeno like you used to, but I know you are not in any of those things.  You are now gone.  Part of what keeps some of my tears from falling is knowing this to be a good thing.  You were so sad when Granddaddy left- stressed and so sad.  You'd smile and go and do, but nothing could quite fill his place.  You'd tell me you felt him near sometimes and that you would talk to him.  I know that helped as well as hurt your heart- the intangibility of his presence.  Soul-mates it seems you were.  "Inseparable" is how others described the two of you.

"Lub" is what you said you had when you were being silly.  "Lub"- something deeper than love.

The melody, "Real Love" by Eric Benett touched your heart as you reflected on you all's love.

Inseparable is what you seem to be.

You never wanted to be apart too long.

And apparently you weren't meant to be apart.

Part of what gives my heart solace is knowing that you are together again.  It keeps some tears from falling.  Although my soul is trying to process your absence, it cannot fully cry because of a simultaneous truths:  yes, you both are gone from this earth, but you are together again.  The latter is much greater to me.  

At first glance, there is something somber about the two of you walking away, but a longer look and reflection comforts my heart:

together again

no more tears

inseparable lovers, husband & wife, soulmates and friends

Guy and Jo

MaMa & Granddaddy

I love and miss you both.

I'm grateful to have had so much time with you in my life.

I'm thankful for your presence throughout the years.

Because of you, 

I am.

...

I'll never forget our last conversation.  I had just made a pound cake.  I was sharing with you my "life lesson" from the process and telling of a devotional that had come to mind:  a mother or grandmother had her child taste the ingredients of the pound cake.  Individually, the ingredients did not taste good:  flour, baking powder, salt, etc.  Nevertheless, combined at the right proportions, mixed, and baked (put in the oven of life) for a certain amount of time, the ingredients yielded a delicious pound cake.  I shared with my grandmother that this devotional came to mind as I was making the cake.  She listened silently.  Her silence made my heart sink a little, realizing she was experiencing such a deep loss that some cliche devotional couldn't even begin to heal her hurts.  I was not in the best emotional space either, but overall was at peace.  The devotional was a reminder to give God time and liberty with my "pieces." 

...

I told my grandmother I was trying to perfect my pound cake and was going to let a couple of girlfriends taste it.  She encouraged me saying, not to expect it to taste like someone else's.  She also told me not to watch people eat it like her sister would do.  (I was laughing.)  She said her sister would cook and then sit there with you while you ate the food, asking how you liked it.  I thought it was funny and told her that my friends knew I was open to constructive criticism because I was trying to perfect my cake.  In addition, they wouldn't be eating it in front of me anyway.  It brings a smile to my face as I recall her conversation.

As I reflect again on the process of baking a pound cake, I realize that my grandmother's stroke and some of the events that preceded and followed are those individual, not-so-great-tasting- ingredients.  However the final product:  God having my grandparents in his hands...God allowing them to be in peace- no more sadness- inseparable again...That is a delicious pound cake!

Heartburn

you know something is wrong
when you can feel your body parts
when they let you know they are there
when they scream at you and holler
until you can't deny them your attention
funny bones
ears
eyelids
stomach
and back
they are supposed to just be there
doing their thing
but every now and then, they cry out for your focus
thus
my heart hurts
it burns
it feels like I swallowed a fireball
jalapeno pepper
burning
indigestion
difficulties digesting life

but it'll pass
the heartburn will cease
and I won't feel my heart again
and everything will be alright

Pound Cake

I once read a devotional comparing life to a pound cake.  A woman had her daughter or granddaughter to taste individual ingredients.  Of course they didn't taste good:  flour, baking powder, etc.  But then the woman mixed the ingredients together at the right proportions. 

She poured the batter in the pan, and baked the cake.  When the little girl came to taste the ingredients the second time (this time, combined, and baked), she tasted a delightful cake.  Is that not how life can be?  Some ingredients for success or fruition of a dream can taste awful in isolation; however, in God's hands, combined with other ingredients, processed through heat...can result in the tasty pound cakes of life.  The metaphor from my devotional crossed my mind as I baked the other night. As did Romans 8:28.   I know I am to find comfort in this.  Every time I bite into a slice of pound cake, I want to remember that all things are working together for my good.

My Hope: Not One Tear In Vain

When It Rains

When it rains...

it sometimes drizzles

sometimes it's a mist

and sometimes

it simply pours

Sometimes it's my fault

And sometimes it's not

Sometimes when it rains

it pours

drip drops of different hues and sizes

Sometimes when it rains it pours

and sometimes when it pours

the best thing for me to do

is be still

acknowledge the rain

honor the rain

rather than futility denying or resisting it

surrendering to it

honoring the rain on the outside

without letting it cause flooding and sinking on the inside

Sometimes when it rains it pours

and I want to cry with the rain

letting my tears fall

like the drops falling from the sky

rinsing the earth

and cleansing my soul

Sometimes when it rains it pours

turning light blue skies

into gray overcasts

Yes, sometimes when it rains it pours

darkening my view

Nevertheless, the Son is always shining

and soon the rain will yield

clouds parting and passing

almost as quickly as they came

Headache

My head is aching
pressure has built up
robbing me of joy
putting ants in my pants
I am angst to get up and go
yet weighted so
my legs are giant sloths

thoughts running like Jackie Joyner Kersee
imaginations
what ifs
what has beens
weight

The Best Place to Be

sometimes there's nowhere to go
but here
no better place
no better position
than to get down
on ones knees
and pray
and pour it all out
before the only One
who can really fix "it"
so I lay down my keys
I log off the internet
I put my phone on silent and push it away
and I cry out
expecting to be heard
expecting to receive help
expecting an exchange
expecting my headache to be exchanged
for peace
and my heartache to be exchanged
for joy
on bent knee I fight
so I can stand up victoriously

Art Therapy

Behind the drip of the drop of most of my paint
fell first a tear from my heart
brush strokes, cotton swabbing
disinfecting my wounds
my wound, my wounded heart and eyes
pressing mix-media fixtures in place, 
adding pressure to stop the flow of blood
giving adhesives time enough to adhere jewels and stones- adding to works flare and the perfect touch
giving God time to heal
"As you walk, you will be healed"
echos in my ears
bench pressing tasks
pushing past depression and fatigue
face tightened from the winds of life
smiles no longer coming with ease
eyes glazed over like mod podge works
disappointment clouds my eyes
yet mahogany crayons under the heat of a blow dryer
permit fluid movement again
and brown skin and red heart under the light of the SON
regain elasticity again
they stretch
they smile freely again
they bend
they grow
they love anyway
they hope again
and even glazed eyes can become new again
as I let the drip drop
from my eyes and onto canvases
a cycle of healing
and living
and growing
exhaling
healing and freeing my soul within

Human Excellence

I hate to admit it
but I am human
fully human
fully feeling
sometimes feeling fear
and anger
and agitation
and anxiety
insecure and terrified
yet fit for the fight
weak and strong
soft yet a rock
So, I still myself
resisting the urge to phone a friend
allowing this poem and God's ear to be enough
to be the arms my shivering heart flees to
My heart and mind ache
roller-coaster of hope and frustration
as fruition seems to be so slippery in my hands
so slippery, I can't seem to get a grip
My sight is blurred
struggling to discern between smokescreens, ghosts, and reality
struggling to SEE
and be
and be fully
and be right
and arrive
and achieve
and break through
and SEE with open eyes what only my closed eyes have seen
What will be awesome about my story
is not that I didn't fear
is not that I was always confident or right
what will be awesome about my story
is not that I'm the most beautiful or witty or funny or feisty
what will be awesome about my story
is that I mustered up courage
to press on
that I bore the pain and overcame
that I walked past insecurities and embarrassment
that I kept going
that I dreamed again
that I got up again and again and again
that I loved
that I spoke up
that I believed anyway
that God came through for me

Not Stuck, FREE

It's over, officially
the unofficial has ended
sometimes movement is required
necessary
crucial
even when you don't have all the pieces
all the answers
all the light
that would situate you
in a level of comfort
security
sure enough to walk
sometimes it's the darkness
that prompts you to take a step
to take steps
in hope
in hope
that somehow
somewhere
there's more light
more light
more life
so..
so I sojourner on
becoming light
shining on feet that feel stuck
hoping hearts that feel hopeless
dispelling smokescreens of defeat
mustard-seeding my way
mountains in seas
mine and others
embracing the pain of progress
rather than rotting away
limping
but free
soon to be sprinting
a beacon and light
a mouthpiece yelling:
"YOU ARE NOT stuck!"
you are free
you are loved

written 6.25.12

My Brother's Keeper

A Response to Antoine Fisher’s “Who Will Cry for the Little Boy”

To the little boy inside the man

I want you to know I see you

My heart aches, and tears fall

Because I cry for you

I cry for the little boy

Buried inside the man

I cry but I won’t stop there

I’ll fight for you too, I’ll fight and lend a hand.

I will fight for the little boy

Lost inside my man

I will fight for the little boy

That he may live fully and smile again

I will fight for the little boy

Who’s cried himself to sleep

I will fight for the little boy

I’ll be strong for him when he feels weak

I will fight for the little boy

Crying inside my man

Waiting with tissue for every tear

Loving him the best I can

I will fight for the little boy

Alone inside my man

By his side and in his corner

Until he never feels alone again

I will hold the little boy

He’ll never walk burning sand again

‘Cause I’ll be lifting him up diligently

As a wife who always prays for her man, as a woman who ever prays for her friend

I will fight for the little boy

Who’s died again and again

I’ll cover him with sword and shield

That no arrow will touch him again

I will fight for the little boy

Alone he will never fight again

In battle, his back I will ever have

Like David and Johnathan, I’ll be his friend

I will fight for the little boy

Loving him with all my might

And even when I am weary and weak

For him, the God in me will stand up and fight

I will cry for the little boy

Because when he aches, I do too

I will fight for the little boy

Who’s never had his own

Bricks and clay, I’ll lay the foundation

Creating for him a home

I’ll war for that little boy

Persistent outside the door until he lets me in

Salve for his eyes until he’s able to see

He’ll never be alone again

I’ll fight for that little boy

His peaceful cove he shall have

Fears released, Rest he shall have

His heart again shall smile and laugh

Never again will he have to fight alone

Or have to prove or protect himself again

But he’ll stand in faith, under-girded

Knowing that every battle he wins

I will fight for the little boy

Don’t worry, I am skilled you see

Because I’ve spent the majority of my 31 years

Fighting for the girl inside of me

Who will cry for the little boy?

Crying and lost inside the man?

The Holy Spirit who is within, a guarantee

Is going to rescue that boy and man.

Soon that man will walk in manifested victory

Free, life more abundantly

While the little boy lies on the carpet of the man’s heart

Free, content, and stretched out happily

Who will cry for the little boy?

Soon he will never cry again.

To the man, I say be encouraged

You will soon find happiness again

Another Step. Another Dream Brought to Fruition: My First Art Showcase

Finding A New Home: Sold Originals

It's time to say farewell to some of my pieces...A bittersweet moment.  More sweet than bitter though.

I'm so grateful that someone would look at a PIECE OF ME and call it art.  It's a hug to my soul as I continue to learn to look in life's mirror and call each phase and stage a work of God's masterpiece.  A special thank you to Heidi Haggerty, MiMi Caldwell, and Emma Joy for giving some of my original pieces a new home.

"Joy"

Melted Crayon Art

Buyer:  Principal Heidi Haggerty

This piece was probably the toughest to let go.  The creation of "Joy" took a week. or so  I didn't know it, but I was learning a lesson just through the creation.  I couldn't make the crayons melt the way I wanted them to initially.  There were times when it looked like the lady had mascara running down her face.  The thing about wax though, is that when it dries you can scrape it off.  "Joy" was a process of melting and drying and scraping and melting again.  When I finally formed this face, I felt God reveal to me that this is what He does with my life.  He takes my mistakes and mishaps -some that even seem irrecoverable- and He transforms them into a masterpiece of a life.  He showed me that it's never too late for him to create something from what seems like a mess.  Sometimes it may take a while, but if I give him my life, myself, my mistakes and misfortunes...as well as time...he can make something beautiful out of what looked like a mess.

Allowing His JOY to expand on the inside, I say farewell to "Joy," hoping that as it finds a new home, its message will birth joy- .the joy of hope- in the hearts of those who see it.

"Stand"

Buyer:  Principal Heidi Haggerty

For the children who need us to teach them well, advocate for them, love them even when things are difficult...

For those who need to be awakened...

For those who need sight...

For those who need help finding their voices...

May we STAND UP for our kids/students.

May we be courageous enough to be our best selves on their behalf.

They need us to stand for them...

"Deep Blue Sea" Set

Buyer:  Emma Joy Pracher

"What if I am the One I'm Waiting On"

Buyer:  Monique Caldwell

It's time to Create and Be the change we want to see...