8 months so far

     Rainy season is upon us, here in Honduras. I have so enjoyed being lulled to sleep, almost every night for weeks, by the rain. Since there are only two seasons in Honduras, wet and dry, I think I like the wet better. I've always been a sun baby, so Honduras pretty much fits the bill, in rainy season or dry, EXCEPT it's too hot to be in the sun here! I never thought I'd hear myself say those words, but it's true. I get plenty of sun just walking to my class every day or to the playground with the kids or  to the little snack stand. That's it, that's enough. Maybe I'm just getting old. Ha
I can't even begin to describe all the things I have encountered here so far with much more planned ahead. There have been many tough times, but the rewards have far outweighed the rocky times.
Some things were strictly out of my hands too, like having to take a taxi from the bus station, after dark, and alone, in the most dangerous city in the world, San Pedro Sula, to visit friends, but I never doubted for one moment God wasn't there right with me. Or, being stranded at the bus station on my return trip back to Tegucigalpa, for 4 hours! I just thank God I can understand and speak the language or I would have certainly panicked in both instances. I'm told, even taking a bus here at night, isn't wise, but what do you do when the bus you were suppose to be on breaks down? Even so, I arrived safe and sound at almost 11:00 pm at night. God is good!
     I've had a chance to be on live national radio programs which lasted one hour without breaks or intermissions in which I had a blast!  I could see myself doing that many times over, and it looks like I just might. I've enjoyed preaching, which was televised, enjoyed traveling to different states in  Honduras(departments they are called), enjoyed ladies meetings, teaching leaders, painting, ministering one on one(my personal fav), speaking in the prison, being involved in a huge crusade in El Salvador(more on this later), going to the beach(in El Salvador), doing medical brigades in the mountains to the very poor, going to a fair, and most of all, making lasting friendships and becoming a Honduran resident! Yes, I am now a Honduran resident. Having to go to immigration every 3 months, and then leaving the country after 4 months, has not been really exciting. Now, I don't have to do that! The things i haven't really enjoyed are the things I do every single day, teaching the kindergarden class, starting at 7am every morning, 7 hours a day, 5 days a week. It is a chore. And to explain the difficulties would be an entire other story. Teaching the 2nd through 6 graders was tough, but this is by far tougher. And it's not just the being sneezed on, snotted on, vomited on, tugged on, cried on or trying to understand Spanish from 4-6 year olds either. Those, in fact, or the easy things. But it's so tough, in fact, that no one wants this job. So why do I do it? Because I'm needed, because I'm here because somebody prayed me here, because my heart longs to be used by God and pleasing to him, because my husband and I were in agreement for this mission, because I wanted to learn the language better, and because living among people from a different country for more than 6 months opens your eyes to a whole new understanding of a different culture you can never get or see through short term missions. The Hondurans told me, after 4 months I was no longer a visitor, but, in their words, "this is your country, Aurora(my name in Spanish) we are your people." I've heard this many times in these short 8 months, usually said through tears and/or a smile. The president of the Bible College I am attending here this year, (which is based out of Tulsa), told me, " you are doing what 1 in only 50,000 missionaries will ever do, Dawne.  It's fun to go on short term trips, a week or so or more, but it's work to do what you are doing, a sacrificial life. I admire you and commend you." I'd never thought about that really, I just knew I couldn't ignore the tugging in my heart. Everywhere I've been, a piece of my heart has remained. I still stay in close contact with people all over the world, because my physical body just can't remain in all those places I've grown to love. And you know what's weird? I HATE TO FLY! But I put my trust in God, and go, simply because I'd be miserable if I stayed back.
    To name the miracles I have seen or been a part of would take way more time than I have right now. To receive the support financially from people I would have never imagined, has been staggering, to have had many prophetic words spoken over me, with some already coming to past, has been uplifting and humbling to say the least. To have experienced, tasted, and loved this nation, for this extended time, is something I will be forever be grateful for, to my God, because He trusted me enough to send me. Fun, no, I can't say it's all been fun, but I wouldn't change anything about it  for all the world. My heart is so very full. I truly thank God for my friends who have texted me or FaceTimed me regularly with your encouraging words to see me through (and my husband, of course) and for all those who have wired money to me "just in time." Maybe, somewhere down the road I will write about all my experiences this year. Some are truly life-changing and others truly unbelievable. (But I have to finish my children's book and my novel, first.)
Even though I still have 3 months left, and much more to do, I just can't say how thankful I am to God for hearing my cry, the cries of my heart, things I've never spoken to another human being, that He has answered this year. I feel so incredibly blessed. I didn't ask for anything, but I only really desired one thing to come to past before I returned home this winter and that was to have a "real honeymoon" which I never had 36 years ago and that desire is being fulfilled way more than I could have ever dreamed or hoped for and it's first class too and completely paid for. Yep, I'm smiling.
   By nature, I'm a loner. I love being alone, doing things alone. I'm never ever bored, nor do those words ever flow from my mouth that I am bored, because I'm an artist and I ALWAYS have a million things I want to do at one time that I love doing alone. I've heard my Daddy tell me those same words many times, that he could have been a loner, but, at the same time, I know, as well as my father did, that ministering to people, loving people, helping heal the hurts of people, feeding people, listening to the hearts of people is a fulfillment I simply can't achieve alone and it's something I can't live without. There truly is nothing greater than to be loved and to give love. God is pretty smart, after all His Word says, "the greatest of these is Love." Thank you Lord, for hearing my cry, and filling me up with your Love.                                                                                                                                  

Milagro para Gaby(Miracle for Gaby)

Dark hair and eyes and a magnetic smile radiate from this little girl of only 5 years old. At least that is the age they believe her to be. When her soon to be adoptive parents first laid eyes on her she was only 18 pounds at the age of 3. No one is for certain how old she really is since her past is extremely vague. She was found on the streets and brought to a lady in Tegus, (short for Tegucigalpa) Honduras. This lady called some American missionaries and asked if they would be interested in trying to work with her, love her and to help her gain weight and restore her health. Of course, they said yes. At first Gaby, the frail little girl, was very fearful and scared of everyone. If anyone would try to hold her she would bite, kick, hit and scream. Then, at times she would retreat somewhere deep within her own self  to try and "hide" and no one seemed to be able to reach her. One can only imagine the torment, torture or fear she must have endured at such a young age. To look at her now, you would never know she ever lacked food, love or attention.

I got to meet Gaby last week for the first time, up in the mountains of Seguatepeque. She took to me right away, or maybe it was I who took to her. She is a doll. Being raised by American missionaries who haven't conquered the spanish language yet, Gaby's English is very good. In fact, she hardly remembers her native tongue at all.

 Men pretending to be officials with the adoption agency and orphanage have been to the missionaries home a few times, inquiring about Gaby and always showing great interest in her ability to speak english and as to how well she is doing with her english. The missionaries have since learned that these people are indeed not officials but are only interested in selling Gaby into prostitution and she can bring much more money if she speaks english. The last time these men tried to take Gaby away from the missionaries, the mother got on the phone and called the real officials and found out they hadn't sent anyone, so she told the "bad" men to leave her house immediately.

So Gaby took my hand and pull me out onto the huge front porch of the house where she is now living. And she then pulled the cushions off of the outdoor furniture and sat down with her new puppy, pulling on my jeans, commanding me to sit down with her. "I like your earrings and your necklace is very pretty," she said, as she twirlled a part of my hair around and around her finger. Then she reached down to pick up my camera and said, "take a picture of me and you." I obeyed. Then she giggled after I showed her the picture of us. "Again, again!!" she said, so I obliged. Then she reached up to touch my eyelashes, and said, "I like your eyelashes.". I said, "Thank you, and I like your smile." Gaby then laid her head on my shoulder for a few minutes and hugged my neck, an action her mother said is not common at all with strangers.

I had to fight back the tears. Little does Gaby know as she touched my eyelashes, that she touched my heart as well.  She has no idea the life that awaits her, and the miracle that she is, having been rescued and soon to be adopted by a precious couple who took the time to take her in and unlock her fears, all because of the love of Jesus. A miracle indeed, for Gaby.....Love.

MEMORY MOMENTS

Imprinted in my mind of long ago
You red-faced, veins protruding,
harsh words- for what I don't know.
My heart hurt. I made you mad.
Or was it sad?
Memory moments like these
can never be reversed...you're gone.
Still, even now, if I could apologize
for the missed beats of your heart--
I'd trip over myself, running to do so.
To have my back warmly against your chest,
our fingers laced--with your arms crossed about me,
drawing me close--
as we stood on the water's edge---
Is a memory moment forever fingerprinted
in my soul....with a smile.
This time, when you yell---
I'd buffer those words with "I'm sorry."
Just to have that once ordinary, heart-melting,
feels-like-home,
Memory moment embrace.

(written in 1977)

Procrastination!

                       What's left of my homemade spaghetti sauce, apple butter and dehydrated eggplant.

                                      My homemade stevia powder               

Mother walks into my badly disheveled house, with her friend from Texas, and as she enters the kitchen, she questions, "Good Lord, Dawne Marie, what on earth are you doing?" "Hi Mama," I responded, as I pulled the last quart jar of newly canned spaghetti sauce out of the canner. "I'm canning spaghetti sauce, 11 quarts to be exact, with enough leftover for supper tonight, plus I canned apple butter yesterday, straight from our tree out front. I just couldn't let all these tomatoes, onions, bell peppers, eggplant, apples and dehydrated stevia plants go to waste before we move and I certainly wasn't going to lug them all with me to Kansas City in a freezer or ice chest, so I decided to can them," I said smiling. "You are crazy, Dawne, you're moving in two days," Mama responded, "you should be packing," as she glanced around at all I had yet to put into boxes, and piles of stuff everywhere.

She was right, I was moving in two days, and my house was upside down, so much so that I just wanted to sit down and cry, but I had done that repeatedly within the previous 2 weeks. Afterall, what woman enjoys having her nest completely torn up, especially one who is an artist and avid reader, and has literally dozens of bins of art supplies in every form that she just can't part with AND ONLY 42 boxes of books. :) But, how could I just let all this produce from my garden go to waste. So, as Julia Roberts said on "Pretty Woman," "No, I'm not a planner, I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-kind-of-gal." Yep, that's me. Well, one side of me. I do love to plan, and plan I do, but having inherited the fine quality of procrastination from my beloved father, my plans usually take form in the last minute. I'm finding out something about myself, which is, I always work best under pressure. Don't get me wrong, I am very much organized in several areas, where I don't like things messed up or out of place, but when it comes to getting a "planned" task done, it usually involves scurrying around, last minutes and late nights. haha Somehow, I'm just never quit as proud of accomplishing something that has been planned weeks or months in advanced. I make my husband a nervous wreck with this quality I have, but he admits, he's never been disappointed. For example: When I set out to paint a huge mural on a wall, I never do a "real" drawing of it first, but just a quick sketch, half finished. Then I approach the wall with reckless abandon, he would say. But I say, why draw it twice when it is already in my head. What a waste of time. One time I planned to create a "fake" waterfall, about 18 feet high, cascading down through "fake" boulders, on the stage of our church for our annual "campmeeting." Paul asked me," so where is your sketch, what is your plan?" "Aw, don't worry, it'll all come together," I replied. I remember as I was building the waterfall, a friend of mine, Della, walked up one day, mid way through the project, knowing what I was creating, and said, "I just don't see it yet, but I trust you." "What?  You can't see it?" I laughed. But when she returned a few hours later, all she could say was, "wow!"

So, here I am AGAIN, in the midst of a moving mess. If God would have told me I would have been moving two times in one year, I would have said, "Bury me now!" I now understand why He doesn't let us see the whole picture all at once. argh!

So, as I'm packing up my "cupboard" of canned goods(does anyone still can these days besides me?) I grabbed my homemade spaghetti sauce and was instantly taken back to that day, almost a year ago, when I was hurrying around to pack and can at the same time. This time, though, I am not canning, but I am having a garage sale, and I have to admit that chopping vegetables, peeling tomatoes, sterilizing jars, and cooking sauce all day long, is still easier than having a garage sale any day in my book.

So, as I prepare to sell furniture and things I do not want to sell, I have no time to sit down and cry. I just keep saying to myself, "His grace is sufficient for me, His grace is sufficient for me." There, I feel better already! Ok, I'm off to make my garage sale signs and do more packing.

Little Girl, Grown up Emotion

She's seen too much, felt too much hurt, pain, emotion for a tiny girl of only 5 years.
Her mother sits in difiance, won't listen to truth, only to the lies the devil fills her head with.
They all are so tired. So tired of being held hostage by this mother's choices. The very ones that love
her the most, and have sacrificed everything for her, are the very ones she is turning her back on.
Even her little daughter can see this so plainly. Only 5 years old, but her wisdom is way beyond her years.
Her mama sits like a stone, won't listen to reason. Her little girl puts her little hand on her mama's face.
She turns her mama's face towards her grandma, and says,"Mama, listen to her, she is telling the truth."
Yet, her mama turns her head back, staring off into space, like a stone. The little girl starts to cry.
"Why won't Mama talk? Why won't she listen to God and not the devil?" "Why doesn't she love us?"

Several months ago, her mother disappeared, and was gone for 4 days and no one knew where she was. The little girl was told by her grandma not to worry, because God knew where her mama was and He would take care of her and bring her home. One evening the door opened, her mother walked in, barefoot, dirty, exhausted and hungry. The little girl watched as her mother sat down on the couch. She smiled hesitantly, because her mommy was home, but yet, one could sense her restraint to show her joy. Still, something wasn't right and she knew it. A few moments later the police were notified that the mother had come home, and moments later the ambulance showed up with 2 emergency technicians along with 3 police officers. The little girl watched while they checked her mama's swollen, sore feet, checked her vital signs and the police asked questions. Her mama tried to answer the questions as best as she could. Some things she just couldn't remember. The grandma was seated next to the little girl, who sat quietly staring at her mama next to her. Afterall, this little girl's mama was the grandma's little girl too. Then suddenly but quietly, the little girl gets up and walks a few feet to the stairway and climbs up about 5 steps, then burst into tears. The grandma immediately leaves the side of her daughter and goes to her granddaughter. She tells her grandbaby to come to her and she places the little girl on her lap and they sit back down on the couch next to the little girl's mama, the grandma's baby.  The grandma asked her grandchild, "What's wrong Honey?" The little girl, through hard sobs and gasp of breaths says, pointing to her mama, " I just don't want her to EVER run away again." Then she places both of her small hands over her face and sobs. Her shoulders are heaving and her tears are flowing. She just doesn't understand. The grandma looks up at the ambulance people and the police and everyone is crying. Everyone, except the little girl's mama. The little girl crawls up in her grandma's lap and places her arms around her neck tightly and sobs. The little girl was right, her mama did run away again, and again and is still running.

Months have past. The little girl is having to grow up fast, to take care of herself, to pick out her own clothes, to brush her own long, tangled golden curls. She worries about things that a little girl shouldn't
have to worry about. "I can do it myself."  "I CAN do it myself." She's holding so much pain and anger deep inside. Somehow she thinks she is taking care of her daddy and siblings too.

Her grandma is fixing her hair as she gets ready to go to school. The little girl says,"My mommy doesn't love me anymore." The grandma says, "of course she does Honey, she just isn't thinking right, right now. She loves you a whole bunch." The little girl responds with absolute "knowing" in her voice, "No she doesn't. She doesn't love anybody, she only loves the devil." The grandma's heart stopped for a moment and she fought back tears before she answered, "Your mama know's God's voice, she just has to learn to hear it again. She will. She does love you very much." The little girl shakes her head no, then says to her grandma,
"You can't move far away, please don't go. Who will fix my hair and make me brush my teeth? Who will help me clean my room? Please don't move far away, then I will have to get someone new to love me." The grandma assures her, through tears, that she will always love her very much and her mama loves her too and everything will be alright. Then the grandma goes into the bathroom and cries.

Somehow, this little girl thinks she has to be strong. She wants to have fun, to laugh, to play, but every day she is force to deal with her life without her mama. Every day her grandma cries for the torn up lives, the empty lives, the hurt lives,yet, she clings to her God and His promises He has given her, that says, "As for me and my house, we WILL serve the Lord."

The grandma sits quietly at her breakfast table. The knot in her stomach doesn't allow her eat her morning meal. Suddenly she feels like a little girl, herself. Her heart is breaking. Then she remembers a song she sang just days before to her granddaughter, that she has sang countless times before,.....a song her mama sang to her when she was a little girl full of grown up emotion.
     My mommy told me something that a little girl should know, it's all about the devil and I learned
     to hate him so. She says he causes troubles if you let him in your room and he'll never ever leave
     you if your heart is filled with gloom......So let the Son shine in, face it with a grin, smilers never
     lose, and frowners never win, so let the Son shine in, face it with a grin. Open up your heart and
     let the Son shine in. .......If I forget to say my prayers the devil jumps with glee, and he feels so
     awful awful when he sees me on my knees, so don't forget to say your prayers and always wear
     a grin, and open up your heart and let the Son shine in......

The grandma told her little granddaughter that God's promises are always true and He always keeps His Word, we just have to believe in those promises.

Seasons-though summer's best

How could it be that summer is almost gone? The intense heat has now given way to cool, crisp mornings, with fall creeping in and close on my heels. Don't get me wrong, my days are still plenty fierce enough with heat for me, yet the pleasant smells of spring, that engulfed my senses have long since vanished with the gentle breezes that carried them on their wings and encircled me.

When I was young, summer was my favorite time of the year. It always had been for as long as I could remember. Not because it was a break away from the school year, because I always enjoyed school, but just simply because I loved feeling the warmth of each day and the evidence that the sun had kissed my skin with a tan only matched by some aboriginal tribe, thus making it indisputable that my heritage was, indeed, Cherokee. I'd spend my days lying out on the swimming dock, in one of my many bikinis, either reading a book, watching the boats go by, enjoying the way the shadows danced about on the huge leaves of the sycamore tree growing on the shoreline, smiling as my sisters fought to try to stand and balance on the large innertube we used as rafts, or embracing the daydreams of a young love I held in my heart. In those days, I never once pondered the thought of actually ever regretting the summer heat. It was the very essence of the core of me. As I child, I could spend my days tucked away under some ledge of a rock, surrounded by red oaks, pretending to be hidden away in a cave, making myself a pillow out of thick green moss that grew under the overhang of my bluff. I relished the gathering of acorns which the squirrels had missed to store up the previous fall,  and I used them to decorate my "cave," along with unique stones and driftwood I'd gathered from the lake's edge. My mind took me places rivaled only by Huck Finn, himself.

Yet as the seasons in my life changed, I no longer grieved when the hot summer would drift way, only to introduce the changing of leaves and the announcement of fall approaching. I had long since also learned to enjoy the early springtime too. When my children were young, all four of them, and we moved to Dallas, Texas, I remember eagerly planting my very first herb garden. It was very small, as were the funds to lavish upon it at the time, but I still delighted in it and the simple pleasure it brought me. The boys would be up early, starting their school work for the day, Nic awaking first, to get an early start, thus forcing Kyle to arise too, because he didn't want to be left doing his work long after Nic was off playing with the legos without him. Adam was practicing his alphabet and numbers, Molly still sleeping the morning away, and I'd step outside with a clean load of freshly washed laundry, ready to hang in the morning breeze. Inspite of the hardships we were enduring, I looked for things to make me smile: like the fenceline covered with tangled honeysuckle perfuming the morning air, (taking me back to my mid-school days where my best friend, Areta, taught me how to suck the sweet nectar from the pale blossoms), or the mama rabbit and her 4 newborn babies that were safely "hidden" in a hole in the ground in the middle of the backyard, or my newly planted herb garden, which I encircled with purple and yellow faced Johnny Jump ups. I quickly learned that the ants, which also accompanied my backyard, thought that I had planted the delicious little edible flowers just for them, "thank you very much," they seemed to say. The small pasture behind our backyard just came alive mid-spring, with an endless sea of deep purpley-blue Texas bluebonnets, sprinkled among them, were brightly dressed indian paint brush wildflowers in brilliant orange and gold. I can not tell you the hours I spent taking in such a visual splendor of beauty. This may sound silly to someone not taken to noticing the simple gratification of: flowers, trees, birds, insects, rocks, seashells, driftwood or leaves.....but one would have to be completely "dead" to all his senses if he did not notice the pallet of exquisitness, laid out by God Himself, in the form of a solid sea of bluebonnets in the springtime. Could I cry or did I? Absolutely. When I see such beauty, I thank God He created eyeballs, so I could be so blessed to behold such a sight. Does it sound melodramatic? Maybe. But I make no apologies. For as long as I can remember, I have been enthralled with and loved dearly anything in bloom. Afterall, how many 7 year olds receive crape mrytle shrubs from their grandma, as a birthday present. *smiling*  Yet, it took moving to Kansas City, Kansas to taste my first experience of spring or early summer, by way of the Linden tree. I first noticed these, often, multi-trunked trees, while on a late evening walk. Long before I actually took note of the tree, itself, the intoxicating fragrance hit my senses in such concentration, that it almost left me drunk by the multitudinous danggling, honey scent blossoms, almost hidden under the heartshaped leaves of the waving boughs. Never had I been introduced to this tree before, and I wondered why. So I set out to do some investigation. I learned that it thrived in just a tad bit cooler weather than where I was from, and that they were extremely common in Europe, also known as the Lime Tree there,(although it bears no fruit neither smells of lime) and that it is also referred to as Basswood. One of the things I love about this tree is the way the leaves on the branches almost droop lazily, while the pale white to golden blooms hang like gaudy earrings from a Spanish flamenco dancer. Somehow, this tree just makes me want to crawl up underneath it and take a nap. Maybe that is why one of the beneficial properties of it's blossoms is considered a good sleep aid. Nonetheless, this conventional tree does not hold it's jewels long enough to enjoy, and I found myself crying for the last gulp of perfumed air on one of my mid-summer June walks.    

Now, it is late August, and while the heat still wanes, and I'm packing up to move back to Oklahoma and then on to Honduras for several months, in the next two weeks, I hold tightly to all these memories in my mind. While we will be flying out towards the end of November, I will get to enjoy the changing of leaves, the sight of porches decorated with pumpkins, gourds, and dried corn stalks once again, before I step off the airplane into, what feels like, hot humid summertime year 'round in Honduras. With growing older, comes more of an intolerance to heat than what I delighted in during my younger years on that swimming dock of our fishing resort, or the cherished years of my children, where we spent many blistering summer days on the banks of the cool running waters of Elk River. Yet, I believe, with this move to this foreign land, will awaken in me, all the feelings of my youth, when summer heat was my greatest desire, and it will spark in me, not the reminder that I am aproaching my "fall" years, but that my youthful strength will be renewed with the Central American sun, not to mention, a whole new spectrum of tropical plants, birds and insects, my inquistive inner child is just waiting to explore. I long ago wished it could always remain summertime, and now, it's seems that wish is about to come true. *laughing at the thought of myself, once again in a bikini....oh my!*

Trujillo-the tiny Carribbean village of my new home.

YAYA CRIED

Today was a really sad day for me. But not sad in the way that you would think.

Today my oldest grandbaby, Kylie, whom I affectionately call Toogie, started Kindergarden. She was so excited that she woke up extra early, only to have to be sent back to bed by her father for another hour.

I woke early, too, as I was not going to miss this very significant day for her. I threw on my clothes and was out the door before 7:00 am to help get her ready for her big day. (we only live a mile apart) I'm sure I would have been there for this monumental day even if her mommy was there to get her ready, but she wasn't, and this precious little girl just needed a "mommy's" touch for this important day. I had joyfully accompanied her and her dad, just two days before to officially enroll her and to bring in all the necessary forms. She wanted, so badly to go see her classroom right then, but the hall was locked up for the day. She breathed a heavy sigh and disgustingly announced, "I am just so sick of waiting." (truly, she is an actress already)

When I arrived at their house, Toog leaped in excitment as I entered the door. She said, sticking out her chest, "Look Yaya, I'm ready for school. I'm wearing this because this is Justice's favorite color.(her almost 3 year old little brother) and I will miss him today, so I'm wearing this for him. Is that good?" It took me a brief moment to answer her because I was swallowing the lump that was rising up in my throat. "Yes, Honey, that is a great idea." Her other grandma had bought her a cute "Hello Kitty" dress and a "Hello Kitty" shirt and shorts which had been her favorite choices to have to decide between for this day, but she chose to forsake both of those pink, girly favs to honor her little brother. I really couldn't believe that she picked a green shirt with multi colors on front, and blue shorts to match, over her prized possessions, but she did. She brushed her teeth and I fixed her hair and off we went, along with her two little brothers, her daddy and her Poppy too. When we arrived, I took some quick pictures of the whole family in front of her school sign, then she reached out for my left hand, and squeezed it tightly, with her "Hello Kitty" backpack flung over her left shoulder, and we headed toward her new environment, walking down that long sidewalk. My first tears were shed as I whispered her mommy's name to myself and knew that down deep inside that tiny little girl's heart, she would give anything to be holding her mama's hand instead(or too). We entered the classroom and she walked straight to her cubicle that had her name on it and put away her backpack, then found her desk with her name on it as well. Pictures were taken left and right by myself and her quiet daddy, whose face showed both excitement for his daughter, saddness because the love of his life and mother of his daughter wasn't here with us, and a tiny loss because his baby girl was growing up. Toogie smiled, looked at me in the eyes, as I squated down next to her sitting at her desk, and kissed me. We said our goodbyes and walked out. Fighting back tears, so full of joy and sorrow, we exited the Kindergarden hall and approached the main lobby. The loud speaker came on and the voice of the lady principal rang out, "Good morning students, let's all stand and say the pledge allegience to the flag of the United States of America." That did it! I could no longer hold back every pent up emotion I was fighting. I let the tears flow, looking down at Justice, as his daddy paused to place his little hand over his heart, for the last words of the pledge spoken," and justice for all." YES, I thought, with a smile on my face and a pride in my heart as we walked out those doors.  Another generation learning to pay tribute to our Godly heritage, even if things aren't exactly like we long for them to be, a yaya can smile and cry, full of pride for her grandbaby and for her country. What could be better than that?