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Krissy Mosley Ministries

  • In The Night Season (Prayer Poem Video)

    September 16th, 2020
    written and spoken by the author of Visionariekindness Krissy Mosley

    When our souls have reached the night season and it feels we are strumming our pain with uncertainty, this level of opposition it sits at  top of our souls 
     while the tides are so rapid and waves are all consuming,

    but God this is where we meet Jesus, this is where we draw the line from fear

    to speak in faith 

    we draw the line in the night season , for the power of life and death still lies in our own tongues – so we speak life to every dark cloud, we speak life, through the valley of shadow of death ,

    in despair and in the dry places, we speak life

    so let the weak say I am strong, let the poor say I am rich,

     let health enter our bodies as good medicine,

     O Lord, keep your hand upon us and let no evil befall your people, enlarge our territory and bless us indeed 

    your kindness sister Krissy

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  • Find the Sun:

    September 4th, 2015

    straight road

    (image credit hdwallpapers.cat)

    Open the windows of light

    Inside night-falls’ holy wonder

    Believe in yourself

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  • Exhale Day 12)Napowrimo

    April 12th, 2015

    She had crumbled before

    throwing hands right above the stippled light.

    This time, her eyes were squared

    distilling the faintest of frozen dust.

    Her thirst was cleaver

    anticipating her stage

    She could really take flight.

    Just,

    Tonight.

    Give it all you got!

    Even if it is just another bust,

    Exhale

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  • Soup of Love Day (3) Napowrimo

    April 4th, 2015

    napofeature2She wore her cotton purpled sash squares through each yard.

    For I never saw a mother with such a discerning eye.

    While the day withered from sunshine to bitter night.

     

    For I never saw a mother feed the dead.

    In her kitchen with each tool and recipe,

    sweeping rounded pipes of potted meat

     

    For I never  saw a mother with such a piercing look

    tumbling in and out of oven-soot.

     

    Her humbled feet grounded by the gardens leaves,

    just to sing a mumbled tune.

    Ah- if that mother’s son could only breathe

    For I never saw a mother feed the dead,

    with such a discerning eye.

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