Krissy Mosley Ministries

I am a miracle
I am a walking miracle.
I see miracles all around me.

Miracles happen to me
they are open doors.

They are life-giving.
They are paramount.

Miracles are life-giving sweet.
Miracles are pleasant bread- sweet.

Miracles bring me joy.
Miracles bring me peace.
Miracles bring me, abundance.

Miracles bring me healing.
Miracles bring me restoration.
Miracles bring me clarity.
Miracles bring me relief.

I am a miracle.
I am life-giving sweet.
I see miracles all around me.~Krissy Mosley

As a girl, I was called so many names darky, black, and burnt -then comes the laughing and sneering. Having red undertones with a summer’s bronzing glow. I covered everything. I would have covered my face if they’d let me.

About the third grade, I entered a new school. And with that new school, I heard the whispers. I endured the taunting trials of immature students who had no idea of who I was and neither did I.

Although it’s taken many self-talks. Many years. Many journeys of hurt.

Prepping myself to love me.
Taking a hard long look.
I mean really look at my body.
And stop this affliction of hatred.

While I can’t change the perceptions of others. I choose to feel good about my identity as a woman. I choose to use this kindness and share it abroad until the world does not see but feel the warmth of kindness. And then it nourishes our paths. And with an open vision,
I choose love.~ you kindness sister Krissy Mosley image by the author of this post

Do we as writers outgrow the pen?

Do we as social people want to have followers without depth?

Do we let our passion slip and fizzle out because there is no crowd?

If you ask me, I know I’ve been shallow and walked politely around the issues in my life. Yet as I’ve had the grace to evolved into a more mature person about writing.

It’s not about whether I write great or suck.
Just as long as I do it.

And that has sufficed an insufficient need in my life
as a mother, a wife, and a woman of color.

Yes, I would love to live online but there’s is no such thing as of yet.
I still must shake a few hands, give out a few hugs be human and use the toilet- if I can be frank.

I’ve let my passion slip a time or four and realized how empty -without tears delivering a dry cry, hating everything in my path, only because I let the one thing

I love slip, but O’ baby not anymore!

So, for now, I have not outgrown my pen.
P.S. don’t judge I’m a gem in progress.~your kindness sister Krissy

When stories
are born in the heart.

They are transformed into
the veins of the page.~Krissy Mosley

Sometimes its good to be reminded
that this day is a brand new day
with brand new mercies.

As the old folks use to say
I rose to tell you.

that the bed I laid down in

last night was not my cooling board.

And the sheets that kept me last night
weren’t my cooling sheets.

And the car that drove me here
was not my funeral hearse.

And this celebration of life
was not my home going. Or my final resting place.

I’m still in the land of the living. I’m not dead yet…

That this day that the LORD has made…

And for that, I’m so thankful for one more day.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

Cycling around us
From hand to heart.

Beyond time
Transcending…

Noiseless
Reverb.

Kindness is music that
Washes the soul clean.~ Krissy Mosley image pixabay.com

Dear God….

Our daily bread of brick and stone. We lament. We stumble. We cast our hopes into iron-sky. We harp our cords in galley- ways. We drink our land through straw. We lay down with scorpions.

Afar off the city writes letters to the dead. Why haven’t you come home? Why haven’t we made this place home? Who’s left to shed blood? Whose cooling board is this? Whose smiles are forgotten?

Who is now to abide … Tribulation, degradation, violations, so what is…. what is…. alleged convictions of twisted morality? “Our fathers sit on benches” with their submissions in toe.

They lead us to church but there is no bread.

They lead us to make bricks without straw.

They lead us to war but there is no flame.

They lead us to riot…

              but there is no change.

No one will know the lies of our supplication

Nor whose hands defiled our bodies

And with these treacherous truths

We are desperate

Dear God…

Open to us vision that we may crouch before thy mercy seat

Open to us a morsel of bread that we are not destroyed

Open to us again – that we make amends and be called

your house of bread.~Krissy Mosley