Sweet, sweet streams flowing by
A birdie singing my lullaby
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

Bless this house,
Oh Lord, I pray
Keep it safe by night
By day
Keep me in your arms until
Gentle flowing by, I will

And into the stream, the flowing stream
I will float upon the water in dream
Into the arms of love and grace
Into the Stream of the Dreaming place.

It is white magic that fills the air
It falls so slow, so gentle and so fair.
It settles upon your open hand
As if ready to be loved;
This white powder from above.

It can be so thick, so light,
Yet oh so smooth and bright,
It shines sparkles and twinkles
Like gems and diamonds upon the ground
Just waiting to be touched, just waiting to be found.

"How are you today, ma'am?" I asked her, and she smiled up at me as only a graying, seventy-year-old lady can. "Just fine," came her reply, and so I started scanning her groceries. She only had a few, and I knew it wouldn't take me more than a minute. Then she would be gone, like all the others who had come before her. We would intersect each other, and then go off again, as much strangers to each other as ever. But before I started, she stopped me to ask a simple question.

I am new to this site - though only new to writing on it, I've been a "lurker" for quite some time. My life journey has been an interesting one, at times full of stony roads and thorns, and at other times smooth and flower-lined. I graduated from my family's homeschool many years ago (my youngest sister is the last one learning there), and now I am passing on this particular blessing to my own little boys.

Keys press down,
Keys let up.
You hear the music,
But I do not.

I see the keys
And the beautiful motion,
Made by your fingers
On the pure white keys.

I have an advantage:
I create my own music.
I don't hear yours
Inside my head.

I see you playing,
But I am not listening.
I am creating my own
Silent song in my head.

(this story is based on the song ‘Giant Killer’ by Dennis Jernigan, a worship/praise songwriter)

GIANTKILLER
There it was again. That same feeling; like he was being hunted.
Darius looked over his shoulder, trying to control his nervousness. All he could see was sand. Sand and rock stretching for miles upon miles.
“Why, Shepherd?” he asked aloud, leaning back. He stared into the satiny blackness above that was pinpricked with tiny diamonds,
“Why did you bring me here, out in the middle of nowhere? What can I hope to accomplish?”

I'm home because,I have a loving family.
I'm home because,I have wonderful friends.
I'm home because,God is merciful to me.
And because his love never ends.

Before I start, I wish to add a small introductory note:

Pistachio the Pirate and his wife Georgianna are characters in a story I'm writing. While not really Pirates in the terms of thievery, they have much that resembles your traditional stereotypical fictional pirate. It's a song sung by the two of them thus their names in the parentheses.

(Pistachio the Pirate)
"A pirate's life is what I want.
It's what I want to be!
A pirate ship! A pirate captain! That's me!"

Are you round,wanna lose that pound,wanna look at your self and not see a mound? Well, you know what I say to that? You're Beautiful,not ugly and fat. And if someone says you're ugly the're as blind as a bat.You're special in mine eyes and Someone elses too. So you look that bully strait in the eye and say,I don't look like Winne the Pooh,So just scadadle go on,Shoo!

I went to the park today. The woods there remind me so much of where I used to live. Before my family moved to the city, we lived on a farm outside of town. It was about sixty acres, evenly split between woods and grassland. We'd moved there from Dallas nine years ago, when I was eight. I spent the next eight years of my life there. And then we moved.