Monday, May 30, 2022

The OIL Was What Made Her aka Gloria











Whenever I think of my mom for the most part I tend to think of food. If our hips could tell, she loved food just as much as I and comically so. How she'd laugh until the walls and pantries vibrated when I fried my first pan of chicken around the tender age of fourteen to sixteen years old perhaps. Every piece turned out so golden brown and perfectly crisp and it was all so beautiful and smelled so good. But, when everyone bit into their serving, it was like a bloody massacre in their mouths. Until this day, I do not fry food. 

While I am removing the potatoes from my plates today along with all the heavy starches, the butter rolls, the sweets and all the cakes and pies, I am never too far removed from what held us up and together as a family and it was often found in the kitchen over her stove and her olive green double dutch oven. What joy stood there in that linoleum tiled space when the front door to the foyer never stayed locked or closed, inviting any neighbors, friends or family, whether auntie, uncle, cousin or play cousin to come inside for a bowl of turnip greens with real turnips or a plate of liver and rice, smothered in onions and gravy.

I have tried and failed to no avail to make this onion gravy I remember hating so vehemently as a child. I can capture the taste, but the consistency's off, quite thicker than hers which I now love and crave. As I've gotten older my taste buds have surely changed. Icky stuff like boiled okra is not the "witches nose" sitting on my plate at the kiddie table anymore, but it is one of the most beautiful blossoming plants I have ever seen. With just a little salt and pepper, it is also one of the tastiest and was one of my mom's staples, too.












Although Christmas is by far my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving is when my sister and I try to raise the dead just to remember how much sage Momma would use in her cornbread dressing. Last Thanksgiving, I was reminded how she would pull out that cast iron skillet after it sat through the whole year unused, all beat up, bowed over in the back of the cabinet, under all the shiny new non-stick pans totally busted, disgusted and rusted. Why she would want to cook in that skillet was unbeknownst to me until I'd learn a wonder, something that still amazes me in my kitchen today.

Although that old skillet would seldom be used, sitting under the cabinet to just seemingly collect rust, Momma would just break out the oil and rub it all over then, lo and behold her dressing and all of Thanksgiving, it was already done.

That Thanksgiving when my sister burnt the whole pot of collard greens because I somehow fell asleep, after becomimg frustrated with myself for putting too much oil in the cornbread, my then eight year old nephew ended up joining in our "Little Debbie Downer" parade. After smelling burnt collards (his favorite by the way), he marched into the kitchen like the food police just to stop and offer up his two little cents, "This is the worst Thanksgiving ever!"

Although asleep, it didn't take me long to open one eye and retort on the LORD's High and Holy Turkey Day, "Don't you dare little boy, within the eight little bitty years that you have lived plus all of your life ever dare because although you didn't get to know your Granny JJ. . .


THEE OIL was what made her cornbread the best anyone that ever knew her has ever had and ever will have!"


So, my sister went ahead and put the cornbread in the oven. Then, lo and behold - Momma's Cornbread Dressing. . .


BREAD OF HEAVEN SENT DOWN FROM GLORY!


In His Hand,
Jocelyn












Prayer: LORD, help us to remember You in these fires of life. Like You were with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, be Thou even closer to us ¹. As the Fourth Man in the fire, even with us in the fourth watch of the storm tossed night, help us withstand the flames and the floods ². We as Your children become impatient at times. But, like the uncooked chicken I fried for momma as a young girl, You teach us that beyond the crispy and great smelling exterior, You are working deep down on the inside. Help us to be still and wait patiently as the oil goes to work. 

In Your Name JESUS we pray,
Our Balm in Gilead and Fragrant Amen 


Word: "Be patient therefore, brethren, unto the coming of the Lord. Behold, the husbandman waiteth for the precious fruit of the earth, and hath long patience for it, until he receive the early and latter rain. Be ye also patient; stablish your hearts: for the coming of the Lord draweth nigh (James 5: 7-8)."



Biblical References: 





Sunday, November 1, 2020

BEYOND aka THE 3RD OF NOVEMBER aka HE ROSE


beyond 

passing each thorn

beyond 

reaching past the immaculate scars

beyond 

climbing every sharpened edge and painful rung

beyond 

passing these thick and darkened welts

beyond 

reaching far atop the glassy sky, most cloudy peak and all this our time and shattered space

beyond 

climbing deep hemispheres, deep and deeper stratospheres, even what deepest exosphere

beyond 

passing all mortality

beyond 

climbing this sordid and morbid morbidity, every chaotic climatic wave and utter finality


i'll be chasing you,
beyond



https://youtu.be/joHsJLouGXE















Friday, July 3, 2020

THE STARS WILL COLLAPSE aka COURTESY OF HEAVEN



in pain, in agony
the whole world groaned
and earth's cry was so very great

thick black clouds, all dust, no rain
stretched on like the stars
no spark nor hope for sparkle
what blinding and painful shame

yet bent and bowed in toil and sweat
came silent cries 
inmost whispers through the night
from rips and tears to gut wrenching tears that covered damp face's only twilight

with furrowed brow, mouth clenched
teeth piercing even tighter fist
at heart pounding wildly 
wide open cut tearing at
more of what sorrow rent

but bowed back slams down
heavy chest heaves up and
trodden head throws itself back
a different pleading with 
writhing rhythmic louder groan 

suddenly a faint cow bell chimes 
to a more heavenly moan
where lungs inhaled this
pungent flesh and dank air's song

kings and angels were peeking into her womb when heaven came down, earth bowed and all the stars collapsed


Signed,
SimonaGrace





Now let the weak say I am strong!


Sunday, May 17, 2020

BE STILL: IN THIS FIRE AND BEYOND


When I was a little girl my mom told me the story of how my godsister Yulanda became trapped in a fire in their home. Even more frightful, she was trapped upstairs while her mom was apart from her downstairs. Yulanda was just a little girl herself. So, I could imagine how afraid she was on that dreadful day.

My mom told me how Yulanda cried and cried as I'm sure any child would waking up to a house engulfed in flames.  The fire would rage on as Yulanda stood there rooted in so much fear.  She stood above the stairs apart from her mom who was desperately reaching for her downstairs. I'm sure Yulanda's mom was just as hysterical as she was being separated by such a horrific situation.

But, my mom said Yulanda's mom spoke to her daughter these words.


"Listen to my voice. . ."


A tear drops my eye here because I can't remember why my mom told me the story then. There are no words I could ever write to describe how it felt when she shared it with me. But, I will always remember how it felt when she shared it.

Although I'm not asleep under a rock, I don't watch the news and I barely watch TV.  I prefer LOLs over all my tears. I laugh now because I don't watch TV anymore, but I have just bought a TV stand that I'm about to paint! Oy vey Jocelyn!  So, I guess that's why I tuned in for what seems like the 2nd time now in this time of COVID. Oh my!  After only a few minutes, I had to turn off the TV and pray for my sanity and the sanity of the world.

I understand how people are so scared and worried now and I know first-hand anxiety's "middle name, birthday, address and social security number," I just can't believe that people are protesting Doctors!  I can't believe murder hornets exist and that they are ripping the heads off of honey bees! But moreso, I can't believe that it is 2020 and still these "honey bees," Ahmaud Aubrey and Breonna Taylor, whose blood is more precious than honey, have lost their lives so senselessly (please insert all our other "honey bees" and say all their names here, even now and forever #GeorgeFloyd's).

I'll admit I had become desensitized to much of the news, numbed out, just sad, but even more sad for the world which is waxing colder. So yeah, I can't watch the news like that anymore.  At first I thought, oh no I'll be out of touch, ill informed and most definitely a whimp, etc., etc. But, I just CAN'T digest it all anymore.

So this is why I am glad to remember how Yulanda made it out of the fire that dreadful day not "digesting" or listening to her own screams and fears nor the awful flames and fires raging all around her nor focusing on the flames separating her from her mother.  But, listening to this still, small word,

"Listen to my voice. . ."

LISTEN TO HIM! 

God is so amazing and I tearfully realize this more and more as I write then pause to answer the phone. My sister and young nephews are on their way to the park by my house for bike rides and a picnic. Even in this time of COVID-19, He is still doing great things, has not failed to blow my mind and still exceeds all my expectancy!

So yeah, Yulanda heeded the voice of her mother. She made it out of the fire safely that day and her namesake Jocelyn YOLANDA which means Joyful Lighthearted VIOLET FLOWER will make it out of these fires of life, too!


Prayer: LORD, thank You for how You've kept us and for how You keep us everyday. Thank You for our family and loved ones, especially, my sister Kimberly Diane and my nephews, Michael and Justin. Thank You for my best friend Tiffany and our little angel Jenessa! Keep Your Hand upon us and let nothing by any means harm us. 

The BLOOD all over our lives and those reading here. In Your Name JESUS we pray, Amen


Ink His with pen in hand,
Jocelyn



Monday, March 30, 2020

HIS GRACE




HIS GRACE
Will keep you
His grace
Will mold you
His grace
Will carry you
His grace
Will hold you
His grace
Will teach you
His grace
Will scold you
His grace
Will lift you
His grace
Will load you
His grace
Will find you
His grace
Will coax you
His grace
Will love you
His grace
Will show you
His grace will
His grace will
HIS GRACE


Receiving the End of My Faith
Even His Grace to Win This Race,
Jocelyn





Saturday, March 21, 2020

THICK BLACK LIKE NIGHT: SPLIT THE SKY


LORD, You split the void and gave to us light
Split open nostrils and men breathed life
You split the mud and gave man sight
You split the sea and nations crossed over
Split the rock and water overflowed us
You split a virgin's womb and all
the world blessed one man's wife
Split on your back, thirty nine lashes,
healed all of life, then went down
into a tomb, and up out of a grave
rose the Light


And by this I know that if the world is ending
and dark covers thick black like night. . .

You will split the sky

Shine,
Jocelyn



Prayer: Deliver us from the perils of this world. In Your name JESUS we pray, Amen and Amen






Friday, March 20, 2020

SPIN


LORD You spun the heavens and
they still testify and sing to You today.
Beyond the glow of every sun, the glitz
and glamour of each single star, the
candescent canopy of our own moon,
You are so beautiful God,
You are so beautiful God,
You are so beautiful God

Spinning in the Palm of Your Hand,
Jocelyn