Krissy Mosley Ministries

In moments unexpected, I surrender in gratitude. A final giving up, not as one that fights the air but I am thankful for all of it. For the seconds I felt hurt, defeated by a standard I alone had set.

For the years it has taken to love me.
To forgive me. To allow the old version of me fade.

To understand that through every hurt, and troubled waters.
There is a grace that leads and follows – besides the quiet sea.

The Master’s plan for my life.
Like a web, spun so seamlessly,
the naked eye cannot see.

So here I am…

I surrender in gratitude.
In harmony,

in workings unseen.
I surrender in faith, knowing something better awaits…

I surrender every plan sown.
I surrender the setback.
I surrender the step forward.

Where there was no vision.
Vision has come.

Where there was nothing to plant.
New seeds grow.

Where there once defeat.
I come out of the grave.
I come alive.

I surrender here and now this gratefulness to remain.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Gotta get back to it, but first,

a little more love

and joy,

and kindness does the soul good.~ your kindness sister krissy Mosley

I’d be there, where the deep-wells are made.
I’d be right beside the silent nights.
I’d be there before the highest heights of dust.

A place where paper cranes are hailed.
Across Argentina, Africa where God makes new plains.

Hearts are cased in bone. For those who own
hearts must be wise. And wisest still, the one who knows.

The beginning of stillness.
The latter days of old.
The smiles of the children.

And the desire of desires in the soul.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Where I once saw the matter grey and unbearably wicked. I now see it as the place I overcame with courage and determination.

Although some years have passed I think about that night often. It could have possibly been the turning point in my life.

We were a family of five, connected by a tiny thread. My stepfather had begun drinking early that night. Talking to the trash can. Beating on my mom. And then, the night morphed into more rage, more anger.

He took a hammer after us, three kids. My mother was shouting “put your shoes on.” “Put your shoes on!” He’d burst the television into tiny pieces.

As we headed for the front door.
I glanced over at my mom.
She threw her bathrobe on.

And there we were running for our very lives.
It felt like we’d ran all night. By then the sun was coming up again.

I can’t say what happened next. If there is anything left to tell.
The rest is foggy, vague even. I don’t remember sleeping. I don’t remember packing up the house afterward.

I just know, mom said: “enough”. She wasn’t going to fight not like that anymore.

What I can say, what was meant for evil. Somehow, as always, we made it out. We’ve had a few bumps and bruises along the way. Nothing that can’t be repaired. We had our lives.

I’ve come to appreciate peace in my home. The stillness of the water. The joys of being alive. The love that’s shown even in the roughest times.
We made it. Never to return again.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

true stories from my childhood

In the joy- being alive.
I see the earth, encapsulated with vision.
I see the day, anew.

I see the world of worlds in the morning
where everything is settled, everything is still.

The starry-light to break.

The morning-bread to bake.

The willows to weep.

The seagulls to glide.
And the sky rolls down anew.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

A heart is a language, stronger than fear.
It won’t ever leave you. It will always be.

A heart is an ocean. Many waves a-coming.
Many hearts to-keeping. It will never leave.

A heart is a distance, only the souls will know.
It will never leave you.

In the end, A heart will be broken, mended
with an ocean. Where the prayers are made.
Where the songs are stored.

Many prayers to-keeping.
It will always be.

A heart is a language, stronger than hate
it will take forgiveness, it won’t run away.

A heart is an ocean someday,
we’ll all be-coming.
It will always be.~your kindness sister Krissy Mosley

There was a time. I probably did not know it then, some twenty-two years ago. It would be my first encounter with the mystical. Something, not always seen by the human eye.

Although I was a kid, I was told kids are most welcomed, sort of innocence, a natural ability to receive.

So there I was, begging mom again.

Me: Can I please go to the park?
I’ll come home straight after.
I promise. Pretty please, with cherries on top.

Mom: Agh. We go through this everytime.
I guess you can go.
You better be home before the sun goes down.

Before she could finish. I was flying out the back door.
I’d walked over to the Phylis Wheatly Playground.
It was full of kids.

Kids on the Mary-go-round.
Kids on the slides.
Kids playing hide and seek.

So I choose the swings. I love being up high in the air.
Pushing a-l-l of my weight into flight.
I felt like, I could kiss the clouds.

I heard another girl say “my turn, my turn”
I knew I had to share so, I said “okay”.

Little Girl: Can you push me, please?

Me: Yeah I give you a head-start.

Little Girl: Higher, Higher, please.

I tried pushing her higher but I must have lost my footing. On the last push, I didn’t know, she’d let her hands go.

Why would she do that?

I saw the girl in mid-swing, heading straight for the metal railing.
I yelled out what momma said could always help me.

Momma: If ever you’re in trouble call on God, He/ she always shows up.

That’s when the first light came out of no-where.
Now. I probably sound like the crazy-cat-lady or something of out of sci-fi.

It’s the truth!

The light came,
picked the little girl up in mid-swing. Right before she crashed into the railing.

I saw she was gonna be fine:
And don’t ask me why?
I ran.

I’d took-off like I’d seen a ghost.
Only now I know better.

(fast forward) Two years ago, Thanksgiving Day

My sister and I are sitting around the dining-room table with families of our own. For whatever reason, I started sharing this same story. Strangely enough, she interrupted wait, I’d seen it too. Did she see what I saw?

Now we both sound like two bat-crazed ladies or there really is a truth here.

A light came down, straightened the little girl’s swing.
and as a fast it came, it left.

She’d run home too. I never asked why she’d run. I never stayed around to see the other little girl. I figure she’d be fine. When I left, she seemed like she was still having the time of her life.

Suffice it to say, with that encounter, I welcome the light. That light can help me anytime.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley signing off

Last night, I took a mean fall down my basement steps. I tripped over my son’s shoes. Sliding, straight on nine remaining stairs. It was sort of funny the way it happened.

There were no flashing lives before my face. My family was safely sleeping. My husband was upstairs. He didn’t hear me holler out. For a split second, I felt alone. Helpless. Silly even for falling. And silly for laying down there laughing. I could feel the bruised throbbing on my backside but nothing else.

As I laid there,

I was grateful, just to have this miracle. I could have broken my neck. I could have severely injured my leg. I could’ve been laid-up down there until morning.

No. No. No. Who comes to the basement? Only I- to wash clothes for the children. Who would have gotten out of bed? To see what those crashing sounds were? Who would be there?

And that’s when I knew, the angel had come. In a moment, when it seemed, I was alone.

I said softly to myself. If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around to hear it. Does it make a sound? Oh great, I’m the tree!

I just laughed and laughed.
And then the fall didn’t hurt so much.

I could get up from here. And yes, falling trees sound like two brewing storms wrestling down over yonder. My grandma would say. So even in these moments,

I knew the Great Spirit of Light has come. To reach out to me. And lift me. Even watching over, us trees even in the forest.~your Kindness Sister, Krissy Mosley

( grateful to write the day after the fall).

There were these lost dreams on dreamers road. Stoned into the bank of the cove. At high noon the dreamers would come to gaze, to suspend their minds in imagination.

They’ve pulled out their ladders to reach God.
They’ve counted the distance between them.

Nailing their dreams in coffins.
Reviving them like Jesus – his resurrection.

Old dreams.
Bruised.
Syrupy Sweet.

Dreams on napkins, nappies and paper bags.
Misunderstood, what makes them fly what makes them sag?

The angel will come and we will wrestle
down over daybreak.

And we’ll place our dreams on our hips.
The angel to hollow through…

These dreams change our names.
And with every one, we, limp steady down the ladder
and stay away from dreamers road.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley