Krissy Mosley Ministries

Around the holidays can be some of the most painful times. I’m pretty sure, I’m not the only one. Maybe, I’m more of a rare bird. Observing the lives of myself and others. I’m not quite sure if both events run together. Here’s how I recall them.

I won a turkey from school that year. I was so happy to bring a turkey home. We didn’t have much food. We never did. I’d tucked the turkey into my coat. I wanted to surprise mommy. I went down the street smiling from ear to ear. The world was grand. I lugged that huge ten-pound turkey against the skin of my school clothes. (truly one of my better memories to keep.)

I pulled out that turkey, we jumped and jumped. My brother, sister, and mommy danced all around. Maybe, holiday cheer had come early. Little did we know, of evenings’ turning tide.

As a kid, I loved to get away. From all that cheery, give-me-this/ give -me -that, I would lock myself in a room. Watch all the Christmas episodes until I’d fall asleep.

Grandma did what she could. She’d sat out the chestnuts, walnuts, and acorns as our family tradition. She’d make me help with the sweet potato pies. I made so many pies. I could make them in my sleep.

I enjoyed cooking with granny. She’d wobbled, only so far. Then make me do the heavy, blending, mixing and setting the table. Not too many heart-to-heart talks with grandma. When they did surface, it was a tidal wave for both of us.

I brought up the time, I’d won that turkey. Our celebration was cut short. As I watched. Mama being pounded in the head by my stepfather. Over the toilet bowl, he beat her in the face. Pushed her head down into the small porcelain-liquid.

I guess I’d seen enough, at my age.
Heard the racket and ran. I got the broom from the kitchen.

What was I thinking, at nine years old?
I pushed that broom into his back. I grit my teeth together.
I shouted as loud as I possibly could.

“Get off my mother! Or so help me God!”
I remember standing there, in the bathroom, trembling.
The peeled, teal-paint on my back.

I could have melted into those walls. If they’d let me.
I remember the shocking, awkward look on both their faces.
That now what moment?
I’ve disturbed a pit bull in full feast mode.

He dropped mama’s head.
He raised his hands in front of me. I thought, surely his gonna kill me but he didn’t. He walked right past me.

After that, we didn’t celebrate too many more holidays together, as a family. My siblings and I soon went to live with grandma. Mama stayed in Texas with her new husband. Holidays were never the same.

I still wanna lock myself in a room.
Watch all the Christmas specials, don’t come out until its all-over.

However with children of my own. Blessings of life and favor, so much to be thankful for. I’ll be attempting my part of good cheer. Making grandma’ sweet potato pies.

Hey, that’s life, we give it all we’ve got. Life keeps on going,~your Kindness sister, Krissy Mosley

Dear Diary, I never wanted to put God in any kind of boxes. However, it is with great- examination, of my life. I’ve listened to many rivers, some flowing upstream, some down, some fires, and many, many symposiums that could last a lifetime.

A man once said to me when asked what I believed in
When no words flowed back

he said: “I am all of them.”
“All of What? All religions”
“How’s that possible?”

I struggle with the most basic things sometimes, especially since I’ve left the church/ to come back to the church and over and over the saga continues.

I walked down Race street repeating it “I am all of them”
Maybe, God could be just that, All of These (religions) and yet I couldn’t wrap my silly little mind around the Creator being all things/all faiths/ for everybody.

And deep down inside I knew he was right. Or I felt something stirring. God’s not supposed to be boxed, labeled or Christianized/stuck in the ways of humans’ existence. It was always bigger than us. Always has been/ always will be.

What if there were no systematic religions? Just faith and whatever you needed to call God. God could possibly be that and be so much more.

P.S. feel free to add what you believe~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

A beautiful mind cut in sections
with a small pair of scissors
unmasked for the ages
let them cut/see in/ pink/bright-red/wagging

inflated in many faces but all one and the same
priests/pedophile/gods of little gods/man/murder/friend

impregnated by the naivety/identities skewered
by the bull

mask/press/shake/loose intentions

Of perfecting
A beautiful/ blinded-mind
wrinkled/weeping/luscious/battle

horns/ salted/sword/stroke/surrounded mounds
in mounds loving/hating/unfriending/pending
holding still/ recklessly endangered bulls

split/gently/soft down the middle
born of death/disease/sworn I wouldn’t tell
elapsing between the faces

but its time/ I survived it/ ripped out its spleen
that rat-face bull/people walked around staring it in the face
and refused to believe what you see is only half
the story and other wears the mask of a
billions of shades/ semi-cut
and fit for the blind~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

I met a Buddhist monk once. I knocked on the door of Camden Temple. He couldn’t look me in the face.”No women!” he shouted. The door slammed.

I knocked again, he answered, “go to Philly and learn from the English Buddhist they will receive you.”

I explained “but I’m here to see David.
David told me to come.”

The Buddhist bowed with many apologies. Bowing still, he opened the door. I walked into the prayer chamber. The OM before me was overwhelming. The Buddhist resumed their prayers, as David and I greeted one another.

David sat down with me. As I confessed my hearts desires for coming. I wanted answers. I wanted to know more. I sat there pregnant and all. In a small wooden chair. The air was filled with rice and curry. The OM illuminating. I took it all in.

I told David, recently I’ve been kicked out of a church. They had to let us go. When I say us, I mean my husband and me along with my two-year-old daughter. Now I’m not coming here to say we are right, oh so righteous by no means. I have many faults.

The church acted in their best interest. I believe at the time. They weren’t out to hurt anyone. Nor stop us from attending service. It’s just my husband was the pastor and me the wife. Well, they couldn’t afford to pay him anymore. I thought they went about it the wrong way.

David replied, “no one is wrong and no one is right.”
“It just is.”
I repeated, “it just is.”

I replied,” but he was willing to Pastor for free and
after four years of serving this community that’s it huh?”

He said, “And so you must let it be.”

I paused. Tried to take it in.
Pushing David, “so what do you mean?”

He replied “let it. Be.”
“but,” I said
“I feel like I got put out of the church”. What a slap in the face!” A punch in the gut!
“That’s never supposed to happen.”

David stood up and return with a book from Eckart Tolle “A New Earth”

He answered:
“Once you’d allowed the pain you feel to pass.
Once you’ve given over to God the hurt.
Please don’t wear it, don’t swallow it.
Suffering will consume you. If you resist.
You must be still.”

I quieted myself, as David walked away from the table.
He said a mouth full. This time, he returned to explain further.

The chanting you hear, the kneeling you see.
It’s not for show. It’s for the suffering.
The path of allowing. Stillness.”

I soon thanked him for meeting with me. More quietness filled the room. After listening to the chanting and prayers for a while. I left quietly.

I still think about this special time. If I hadn’t been put out of that church. I would have journeyed on as usual. I wouldn’t have reason to seek out more divine answers. Or hear the OM. So now, when I experience suffering, I try and be still. I can’t say I’m successful. Nor have I mastered letting go.

What I am saying, that no “blaming part”, the monk shared with me. I carry that.

In their path, the church was right.
I am no god/no judge/ no jury.

And all the unanswered things/like people being shot in the churches. Innocent lives lost. I don’t have the answers. I do know, there is much suffering.

I know, I will not allow it to consume me. I pray for the hurt of this world. I know that’s not what God intended. No matter how doubtful it may seem.

I know, I’m not in control, so this too, I’m learning to let it be.
God has the final say over the earth. I believe we’re all capable of letting the hurt out once in a while.

Allowing love in a little more~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

(it’s been six years, I’m just coming into courage/to share this)

I’m more myself now than I ever was.
When I look in the mirror. I don’t see the sad eyed-girl with low self-esteem. Or the abandonment of my mother. To have a second husband and leave us. That was her choice.

To leave her kids with their grandmother during their teenage years. (Never -mind my dead father).

As I bent down to tie my shoe. I let my mind wander back, to that girl, I used to be. On the floor of grandma’s corner house, faced down into the carpet. Hands over my face. I’m barely breathing. Tears falling out the sides.

My brother and his friends are teasing me for wearing the same winter hat.  Day in, day out I wore that hat. It was starting to be really hot. I still hadn’t put a comb to my hair. Let alone, look at that hot mess sitting on my head. So I did, what I thought most 13-year-olds do when no ones looking. I stuck a wool hat on my head and kept it moving. Until those boys snatched it off.

Then all that shame, all that matted-down nappy-shame ran over me. My younger cousin walked in the middle of my disgrace. In the middle of their full on the enjoyment of sheer bullying. She covered me with her love. Being all grown, at six years old. She wiped my tears. Pulled my body off the floor.

I made it. Past their scrutiny, past their foul words. Past the regret of not knowing how to take care of myself.

We’d become best friends that day. She too needed a mother. I cooked her meals, walked her to school. She introduced me to an old school beautician in our neighborhood. The rest is history
God is good like that.~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

I knew I owed you a thirst
that could permeate passion

just a student on the jobs of life
myself

I heard you’re reaching around
I saw the destruction underway

the rippling punch, square in the face
but you got up

I watched you shift on the nose of dive
taste your own blood and survive
and nothing like that is squeamish

Then we found the scores on the tracks
Marksmen, darts in your back

I shouted for you,
went to bat for you.

Such a promise of the age
to lose and know deep-down

there is a winner, there is a thirst, there’s a winding-arm

I’m writing
what a drunken rage I’m in

A decapitation of a promise
stinking up the room, you not being here
So to students that cross the train
on the west side of the tracks

The thirsty souls drinking submission with
styrofoam cups filled with ambitions

Don’t lie down, life’s fights in your hands
drink those dreams like a winner

Spit out trying
Strike fear in the gut

Take the wind out and
prove them, you’ve gotta
right to be here~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

I believe it was about three Sundays’ ago. After worship service, I made a B-line for the sanctuary door. Worship service was okay. I walked away feeling a disconnect between my prayer life/ God/ and the congregational worship.

Maybe it was just me. Or maybe others could feel it too. The Praise team was wonderful, the music was great but then that longing came back to be in the presence of God. That unction, that God’s not finished with you and you need to get back in here quick.

However, with little time to slow down, I said a quick prayer like just me and you, God. Ashe.Amen…

Then I loaded the kids up in the car. Off we went onto the next mission, for Sunday Supper. As I made my way to the store, I could hear this humming in my ears. I couldn’t quite place the tune.

I soon found myself picking up the vegetables, to make a three bean soup. Standing in the check out line, I saw a beautiful pink, breast-cancer ring. I stared at the woman’s ring long enough until finally, I complimented her.

She replied oh’ thank you, here you go, pass it on.

I was stunned, my mouth dropped. As she gave me a hug and walked away.
I said in a whisper I didn’t mean for you to give it to me.
In response, she said, what is a ring if can’t be shared.
Immediately, I thanked her.

On my way to the car, I kept talking with God. God, what just happened? She literally handed me a ring off her finger. Just gave it to me. Why? Maybe it’s not for me to contemplate. Just accept all the tiny miracles both small and great.

The disconnect I felt earlier vanished. I was with God the whole time, rather God was with me and maybe this was a huge reminder God sees, God hears, and he has not forgotten the smallest of prayers. Amen

In the fullness of stillness,
leaves on trees/calm
mist of morning/ cool
winds/still

A seagull’s shrill
soft/warm/supple
cry/still

The earth wanders
round and round
forward and backward
bending and moving
up and down

A God-like still…

No stories/hindered
no burden/broken
no jabs to the body
no kindred boats

no yearnings,

as I close my eyes
taste smooth/light
airy,

just miles and miles/still~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Logged in my shoe was a rusty green pebble
knots/ along my walk/convinced me

I examined my story
lumps of newspapers under my arm
people don’t read them anymore

I’d walk out of a painted picture
onto the canvas,

I’d colored my shaved
head cherry-brown

Into the misty/staggered fog
scattered plans of a lifetime
A million calamities but they are mine.

They are my someday’s/ someday when the sunset
is crimson red and the wind is dry

Someday in the fullness of surrender
Someday plowing under red clay of Georgia Sky
Someday melting ice cubes in chandeliers
Someday, I’ve tasted glory
I’ve grown grey chasing persistence
standing at my highest peak

Someday I’ll watch my dreams blossom
into flowerbeds, bluebirds, and bluebonnets too

Someday I’ll look back
over that rusty green pebble
in my shoe

an undeniable whisper
it’s true~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley♥

One of these days you wanna find God
pull God out of Nowhere
sit with God on the furniture
wipe out cob-webs
sniff the blueberry trees
let the wounds/ widespread/open
the wounded whole world-open

crawl out of a hole/think I found God
sing an exploding prayer
blown down doors to be safe
carpets/the blood is fresh
altar/ our knees are there

satisfied we dare not drum
over death/the student that did
not make it home/
the mother scrapping cans to feed
the preacher/ preach out empty seats

One of these days when you find God
you’ll know