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Krissy Mosley Ministries

  • Stories From a Third Grade Girl: with something to prove, if nothing else, to herself (part four)

    March 9th, 2020

    Back to the days of 3rd grade. Where I felt, I was becoming, as my mama put it, “Little Miss Know It All,” in Capital letters. I took it as a compliment. The radio alarm buzzed. I hit the snooze button for the fifth time. My school clothes weren’t the neatest for a few reasons.

    One, I was lazy. Two, I hated the iron with a sincere passion. Three, the iron and I have never really been good friends. I think that iron had it out for me. Just as much as I could never figure out the spout and pressure quite right. I mean- tell that to my good leg, with the burn-mark on my right knee! Humph, I rolled my eyes and walked past that evil metal-thing.

    Since we didn’t own a washer and dryer. We took our clothes to the laundromat on most weekends. However, today is not Friday nor Monday. Its’ Camel lost its hump-back stupid Wednesday. I took in a deep breath and bubbled out as many spit balls as I could. Before my big haired sister Colleen, threatened to sell my baby rabbit Honey to our neighbors.

    In that case, I replied, “Colleen you wouldn’t dare! Which she added “watch me” and she stuck out her cherry red tongue. After that, little spat with my sister I had to get on with it.

    So did what most eight year old dreamers do. I got out, my always there when I need’em. When my hair is so crazy. Or I played too long in my grandpa’s ole’ beat up shed. Same thing, I used to spot checked my legs for fleas. Using my handy, dandy, hairdryer. My hair dryer should of been renamed superhero for all girls.

    I blew out as many wrinkles as I could, in my pleated flannel skirt and dark green top.

    I even made it to school on time. Read to the class. Mr. Luna sent me. Everything seemed to be fine. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I walked down the hall for lunch. I grabbed a tray of Chicken fried steak and mash-potatoes with cold peas and sat down.

    That’s when Christopher Jones, tried to warn me. Some kids are daring each other in the Cafeteria. I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah, nothing to freak out about.” Just as I uttered those very words, I heard a kid named Tommy yell “f-o-o-d fight!”

    By the time, I put my fork in my mash potatoes. Scooped up one bite. I had to duck for cover. Think fast Krissy, under the table I went. Boy! O’h boy, did I pray. Please oh’ please, don’t hit me. That’s when I felt the cold ooze of chocolate milk smack into the back of my head. Drip down into my back.

    No use hiding. Food was flying left and right. Mash potatoes, cold peas, chocolate milk. My dark green shirt was covered in sticky-icky milk.

    Everything seemed to be going down in slow motion. I stood up very slowly. The milk crawled its way down into my shoe. My hands went into tree pose. I limped slowly out of the lunch room. Down the hall to girl’s bathroom. To see if any amount of toilet paper and hand soap would salvage what was left, of my Camel lost its’ Hump-back stupid Wednesday. Ugh! I should’ve brought my hair dyer.

    kindness sister Krissy

    P.S. I have lots more to share about trials and triumphs in 3rd grade. ( true stories from my childhood) As always, if you made it this far, from my soul to yours, thank you ( feel free to share any food fight days you’ve had)

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  • Saving the Best For last

    March 8th, 2020

    (photo- of my babies when they were small)

    Some things are never forgotten, laboring souls that go to church

    because we didn’t know, how to fight tired nights with weary days.

    or the systems of oppression-recession,

    systems that knock us down to the date, they go w-a-a-y back,

    systems that refuse to acknowledge more external,

    as to the wisdom of God

    the creator of all that is,

    both in & out-eternal

    Prayers flooding beneath the red cushion-stains

    the brown and grey wooden Briar-patch

    Attach to us the impossible,

    Miracles so wide spread they reach even the dead

    so let it be said ,

    we got up and walked

    walked on water

    moved mountains

    “stopped the mouths of lions”

    turned our “waters into wine”

    we “touched the hem of his garment”

    we “laid down our burdens”

    for the last time

    kindness sister Krissy

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  • Stories From a Third Grade Girl: with something to prove, if nothing else, to herself (part three)

    March 5th, 2020

    (childhood photo of me)

    There I was walking back into the third grade with my head held high. I’d made up in my mind. I was going to plead my case with Mr. Luna to let me back into 3rd grade. I didn’t quite have a plan. Yet I was determine put a zip lock on my lips, throw away the key- so help me God.

    Okay not really but I’d said my prayers. Hey! I’m working on it. Anyhow, with all kinds of feelings like Chimpanzees swinging through corridors and frogs leaping over my head. Even my baby rabbit, Honey joined in. Even Honey didn’t believe. I’d last one whole day, keeping my- my-mouth shut.

    The minute I made it back to Mr. Luna’s class the bell rang to go home. I walked toward Mr. Luna’s desk. I waited until he’d finished passing out our math homework assignment.

    Me: Mr Luna, u-u-m-m-m-m-m, I wanted to say, I’m sorry for being a motor mouth in class. I promised God and Honey, you know my sweet baby rabbit. That if you’d let me stay in 3rd grade. You’ll see I’ve changed.

    Mr. Luna: Really in only 24 hrs? Well isn’t that Peter and all 12 disciples walking on the water.

    Me: I know I’m no saint, or anything like that.

    Mr. Luna: Besides I hear good things from Mrs. Davis. You did a fine job reading to her class. So much so. I’ve decided to let you stay.

    Stay! Like forever, forever, like never-ever come back until your old and grey and can’t fit into 3rd grade anymore!

    Mr. Luna: By the way I’ve signed you up for the 3rd grade reading club, and the first book is on me. “How To Eat Fried Worms” by Thomas Rockwell

    He shoved the book into my hands and said “don’t forget your math homework. See you tomorrow after school.”

    After school! I barely made school, now I have to be there after the fire-siren. Which says to me it’s not a fire. Schools out and me too.

    Oh’ no! No, no, no!

    Mr. Luna yells, down the hall. “Don’t worry Krissy, I’ve already called your mom and told her everything!

    That’s just great. Great, great, great! Now I’m death warmed- over for sure and soon to be cold again.

    your kindness sister Krissy (true stories from my childhood)

    P.S. If that’s okay with you, I’ll be back with the rest of my stories from 3rd grade (hopefully you’ll laugh as much as I have- just remembering the stupidest, weirdest things that happened to me in 3rd grade)

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  • Stories From a Third Grade Girl: with something to prove if only to herself, if nothing else(part two)

    March 4th, 2020

    (childhood photo of me- the kindness sister Krissy)

    The day that third grade change everything. And I do mean everything. I was a fairly average student. I had plenty of A’s and B’s to prove it but I never stop talking. Now that’s not to say, I talked with myself, because I probably would have. If I didn’t have Kwanna Brown, who always managed to sit next to me and sticky fingers Christopher Jones sat across the table.

    Class started out like any other day passing notes, but somehow I was caught in mid pass. Mama said God’s was watching. In my case I think, God gave Mama and Mr. Luna eyes in the back of their head.

    Mr Luna: You do know with grades like yours Krissy you could be skipped but you don’t know how to let the teacher- teach do you? So today is your lucky day!

    Oh boy’ I’d passed one too many notes. Cracked too many stories about Honey my baby rabbit. Before I knew it, I was being escorted out of class down the long stretched hallway. I’d never even knew existed! Pass the Principal’s office -glad not to go in there.

    Two doors down, plastered in blue and red letters that read, “You Are Always Welcome.” As a woman named Mrs. Davis, leaned toward me with shinny black shoes and red hair.

    Mrs. Davis said “Hello Krissy, we are please to have you.”

    Mr. Luna: Krissy all you have to do today is read to these wonderful students and try not to stare. Or fidget with your sleeves. I know that’s what you do when you are nervous. Just think of it as an early homework. Also don’t forget to stop bye 3rd grade after school.

    I can’t believe it! My nightmare had come true. Out of all the things that could happened for passing notes in class. I’d get kicked out of 3rd grade. Now my only job was to read. Oh’ I’m dead, dead, dead, dead and Mama’s gonna kill me.

    I’d looked around the room. I will never forget that eerie feeling. Mama was right. “What you do in the dark comes out in the light.” The class started coming towards me. I was being ambush and this was not your typical war zone. It was just kids, with a few less working parts.

    Some kids in wheel chairs. Some kids with other kinds of sensitivities. I’m only eight, I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know if I should sit or stand. Which at one point, I do believe, I was dead or frozen in place. Everything but my legs -they wouldn’t stop shaking.

    Then I ran pick up the first book I saw. Which happen to be one of my first loves when it came to reading. “Matilda” by Roald Dahl, these stories saved my life that day. I read and read. Until that strange, weird feeling, Oh’ my Lord, what do I do now-stopped. My legs seemed to be running a marathon only we weren’t going anywhere.

    Eventually my leg spasms seemed to fly right out the window. Pass the Principals’ Office. Don’t want to ever go in there.

    Before I knew it Mrs. Davis was handing me double stuff Oreo cookies and a yellow napkin. I smiled and said thank you.

    Mrs. Davis: I want to thank you for coming and reading to the class today. You truly are a wonderful reader. Keep up the good work. In fact! I’m going to ask Mr. Luna if you can come back tomorrow and be our reader until the end of the school year.

    My eyes grew wider. I couldn’t respond my mouth was full of ooey-gooey-creamy goodness. I wanted to say but-but, but, that never happened. So I walked back down the hall pass the Principal’s Office, glad I didn’t have to go in there. Turned the corner back to third grade.

    (To be continued, real stories from my childhood)

    If you want to know what happened next, hit me up in the comments with the “words more please” and if you made it this far, thank you, from my soul to your soul

    kindness sister Krissy

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  • Mama’s Cadence:

    March 3rd, 2020

    Just the other day, I ran into the early years of myself. Barely, 4 feet tall, mostly all knees and elbows. I knew it was me, The sun became the smile on both sides of my cheeks. The wind never did know how to style my hair.

    Laughter and I were two peas in a pod. Laughing so hard, til my spleen ached in between the moments of leaving home so mama could find another job and a better place to live. Those were hard and good times. Times of pruning and turning. Times uncertain yet worthy of learning.

    They were the years the taught me the most resilience. Mama always had a bounce back, (back-bone) spirit. Even now, Mama still wears her smile like its’ Sunday.

    She leans over from her hospital bed takes a few sips of steamy Chamomile and says “chile, just smiling, that’s makeup’ enough for me.”

    Mama never did believe God made anyone old. Just grace enough to keep on living.

    Mama: “getting old was a concept man made. You know, the beauty that God gave, never get’s old. Even when life beats at you or dust-your-coat a few times. So what! You gotta, keep picking up that dust. Blowin’ it back to the wind. If gets down into your eyes and makes your face, get all red and puffy. Wipe that snot off.

    Mama: “Crying is the water of life. So if I’m crying, I’m still here. If I’m in pain. My body make a little noise at night . I’m still striving, cause I’m still here.”

    “That’s alright by me.”

    kindness sis Krissy

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  • Nobody but God

    March 2nd, 2020
    Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

    I wanted to count the days a little longer. Stay under the brightness of the winter-storm. Snow and sun, and snow, slightly picking up mesquite winds. Although our worlds are shifting.

    Our Merciful prayers have never been the same. The baby birds were cooing underneath the misty drizzle. The temperatures steady but dropping. The sky and I, weeping over something weak and terrible.

    I think we were enjoying too much of self pity as of late. Tasting salt droplets, like leftover pudding. Cream still there just harder, firmer now. Puppy wrinkles for eyelids and the sky too. Didn’t seem to matter much. Neither one of us seem to help the other.

    Then my soul goes off without me, as if it should, wondering about darkness, sickness bending one and the same ashy-twig, frantic but holding.

    Dear God, the weakness inside my soul seeps out like weeds.

    the needs of your people, ever-growing but God, this is where you crack our heads open with miracles unfolding.

    kindness sister Krissy

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  • The High Score, if you can’t beat’em, join’em: I’ll be…

    February 26th, 2020

    There I was sitting in my high chair. Okay, so I don’t have a High Chair. Or a bar stool. I just wanted something fancy, high-riding, where I could swing my feet off the ground. Take in the high air- not like the warmth of another winter. Where the hot air rises and I do too.

    Where the bad news can’t reach me or get-me down in my shoes.

    Where my toes are free. On Summer’s eve, even though it’s 37 degrees and snowing,

    Where the dew of the morning gently rest over my curds and whey. Ignoring the bits of icy rocks setting sail,

    instead my mind has gone to nearby cell,

    Where my arms have no sleeves, dawn has no end,

    with sun tan lotion and glowing. ah- the taste of sweetness,

    Where the dew of the morning gently rest over my curds and whey.

    Where the children say, ‘Ola, Ola

    having a ball, tumbling around in the hay.

    kindness sister, Krissy


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  • Having You There Makes the Difference: In other words – We Need You to Imagine…

    February 24th, 2020

    Re-imagining myself as a writer, by grace, I am alive. Writing the script of my life -sifting through warm, dark, soil. Tending to the lumps that shape pages, where I’ve been, where I’m headed, how I’m still changing.

    On the morning of discover,

    I am the afro-haired girl

    with friends of freedom,

    we are soulmates,

    in good company, we are miracles of change,

    aggrandized gold, sprouting through the cracks

    bountiful seedlings, dancing across the Alantic,

    arising, gas-lighting stars bursting with higher thinking

    bursting outside, with ladders of forgiveness.

    kindness is our resource,

    love is, its native power

    hope is our brother

    wisdom is our Mother

    riding on the wings of the Cardinal

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  • Stories From a Third Grade Girl: with something to prove if only to herself, if nothing else.

    February 22nd, 2020

    Through the years, I’d stumbled lightly over the term “growing up” Looking over the silliest complexities in growing. I can remember the tender age of eight. The best thing ever, since slice bread. I brought to my class, on Show and Tell, a brand new rabbit. I was so happy, I could have slapped myself. (okay I probably did)

    When Mr. Luna said “good morning class.” My hand shot up like a rocket in the air. My bunny-rabbit was neatly tuck away in a cage, with a warm grey cotton top. I was’ leaping in my chair like it was a trampoline. And I was trying out for the star role on the Olympics.

    Mr.Luna : who would like to be first?

    Me: o-o-h, me, please, me, me.

    Mr.Luna: Alright Krissy you can go first.

    I slowly stood up, beads of sweat and joy building upon my forehead. I was prepared for it. I took out Kwanana’ brown’s birthday napkin. I’d saved in my desk for times like these. Usually in high pressured moments, I’m one to sweat heavily under the armpits. I guess all the extra toilet paper and baby powder that morning, the sweat had nowhere else to go.

    So there I was lifting the soft grey cotton top. My fluffy grey and white rabbit with its brown button nose. I could hear the class o-ohs’ and aw’s. I carefully lifted my rabbit, that I’d named Honey’ by 8:00 am that morning.

    Tasting nothing less, than sweet victory. I’d steal the crown, The Class’ Favorite Show-And Tell, starring Honey!

    I smiled, like I’d won the lottery on the 6:00 o’clock news. I presented myself, hi” everybody, my name is Krissy. This is my beautiful baby rabbit Honey. I’ve always wanted a pet. Mom always said no. Then she found out that the mail-lady had gifted me an abandoned rabbit almost three years old.

    Mom said the rabbit could stay as long as I kept up with: cleaning it, feeding it, washing it and all my other chores. I didn’t care that Honey was a lot of work. I truly wanted Honey.

    In the middle of my big speech Christopher Jones said “Whoppi-doo,doo. Honey can’t do tricks, can she? I shook my head, “not at the moment.” So what’s so special about Honey?

    I had to think fast. That’s when it hit me, all the church services I’ve attended. All the songs I’d listened to. Watching the saints’ and those who came close including me.

    “Yes,” I replied, Christopher Jones. You believe in God don’t you? Before he’d muster up an answer. I revved back in little girl preacher mode, swallowed a lump of spit and said,

    “Well this is one of God’s gentle creatures.” By this time with my church finger swinging in the air. “You know, they don’t bite. In fact, its probably proven, that bunnies, can alleviate stress. I know it does for me.”

    “Honey brings me joy when I’m sad.

    Honey has taught me things like rabbits don’t eat carrots.

    Honey is kind and sweeter than sugar to me.

    Honey has saved my life, more that I can count,

    probably even my childhood.”

    That being my last word, I wiped my face. Somehow drenched in a bucket of water and took my seat. The class cheered and applauded.

    your kindness sister Krissy (true stories from my childhood)

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  • Don’t Walk & Day Dream:

    February 20th, 2020

    It was the thundering 80’s when I was conceived. A healthy brown baby doll- 8’pounds, 13, ounces. Dark brown eyes to match my glowing skin. Mama’ said “she’d stayed off drugs long enough to have me.” After that she gave her life to Jesus. Prayed that I’d turn out alright.

    staying with the moment, enough- to wonder, if I’d -been born of a different time. Would I Charleston, with the roaring 20’s? Could I lap-out a scat-ta-tat-tat- tap? Or Mash Potato my way through dangers seen and unseen. Would my pen and I be the same?

    Staring my imagination, right in the middle of a vivacious swing, I pulled out my umbrella, I was prepared but this rain came out of nowhere, with impeccable timing – thrashing and thrashing.

    I ran into a brick wall, all because, I took the long way home. Jumped over the first puddle but hit the wall instead. The umbrella cushioned the blow. Yes, I was hurt but I pretended like I was admiring each pink and red square of that wall.

    Slowly slinking away with my wounded umbrella and pride.

    sometimes there are just days like this…(okay maybe just for the dreamers out there)

    kindness sister Krissy

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