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15 Search Results for "mom"

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CaronaDavis
- Views: 41
- Since: 5 months ago
Meeze
- Views: 130
- Since: 7 months ago
Blogs and Writing and whin-...
- From: airycat
- Description:
  
  I have more blogs than I can keep up with. I have this and one other "writing" blog (writing.com). I have two blogs I use to keep up with friends (Xanga and Live JOurnal). I have two blogs for my "spiritual" writing (Blogger and Beliefnet). I have a blog for whenever I work on my Chinese song translations. I send my friend blogs to my Facebook, so I don't have a separate one there. I have a MySpace and a blog, but I haven't used it in ages. There are also several little blogs on places like MyMSN, Yahoo and I don't know where else, but I won't be surprised to find more somewhere. That's ten that I remember.
  And you know what?
  I write now, less than I ever did. Oh, I blog on the friend blogs, but it's 90% chitchat. It's rarely any serious writing. Even less of it is poetry or fiction. The ideas pour in like rain on a lake. They're coming out like drops from a finicky dropper. My head is going to explode, soon.
  Right now I'm frustrated and crotchety. I want to make myself a schedule to follow, but I'm on call, scheduled to lear a job and be ready to do it whenever I'm needed. I'm not doing this for money (although I won't mind a bit extra cash). I'm doing it for love. A family member is dying an I'm keeping his spouse's place on the job, so she can spend time with him. Nonetheless, it's frustrating.
  It's even more frustrating that that's really just an excuse. I have ADD and it boggles my when I see all I've done, when all I really wanted to do was write down a dream that was a potential story idea, or write down the thoughs I had for putting some meat on the scrawney story I call my only finished novel, or outline some thoughts for a spiritual essay (and maybe write it). I start to do it, but I see my eamail. Sometimes there's a response to a blog post. That gets me reading blogs. Sometimes I manage to avoid the blogs, but something else comes up. It doesn't matter what. Everything can lead me astray. Sometimes I don't even know what it was. Like today. I got home at about 3:30. It's now 6:17. Giving me the previous 17 minutes to have written the above, that leaves two and a half hours during which time I'm not sure what I did. I knw a couple of things, cleaned the kitty litter (UGH!), put a load of laundry in. That didn't take two and a half hours.
  I need to stop this what my husband calls "whining and grining." If I'm going to dither, I should find my book of one page strategies for coping with ADD. If I could just get everyone in the house to follow some kind of schedule, that would help. Since my husband retired, I've lost the structure in my life. My mom moved in and now I don't even have to cook very often.
  So why can't I figure out how to get my writing done?!?!
  Yeah, I know. I need more discipline. Where do I find that?
- Blog post
- 9 months ago
- Views: 74
- Not yet rated
LorenChristie
- Views: 43
- Since: 10 months ago
Chapter 2-Please free to criti
- From: AmandaAdams01
- Description:
  
  
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  Chapter 2
  
  The second surgery that I had was in February. I went to Medical City of Dallas to find out what stage of Cancer I was in. I was put in this big white room; I had to lay on this metal table with a triangular piece of foam that was put under my knees so that they would remain bent. I remained on the table for four hours. They used Novocain to numb my feet. They gave me shots three times between my big toe, my second toe, and my third toe and on top of both of feet. When my feet were numb they made an incision on the top of each foot to find a hair like vein so they could inject a tube carrying blue dye into me. I was told that one out of three people would have their legs cramp up when the dye is injected. The dye traveled up a vein that was on the inside of my legs. I was one of the unfortunate people whose legs cramped up. My mom remembers me screaming from the pain. After the dye was injected, they took me into another room and had me put on a gown so that I could be x-rayed. The doctor said that he never had a test fail but mentioned that if it did that they would have to reinsert the die. I’m glad that it didn’t fail! This surgery was to find out what stage of Cancer I was in. There are four stages of Cancer and I was diagnosed in the third stage. The fourth stage is terminal. After I had my stitches removed, I got home and everyone was calling me “Smurf feet” because my feet were blue from the dye. The dye remained in my feet for at least a year and a half.
- Blog post
- 10 months ago
- Views: 93
- Not yet rated
Words to Action
- From: smurfybench
- Description:
  
  I'm calling this blog Words to Action, because it has a similar theme to Gift4Words' most recent blog.
  I heard a great expression from one of my favorite musicians, Michael W. Smith and his words didn't connect until about 3 weeks ago. He wrote a song called, "Live the Life." I've always had a bit of an ego when it comes to things I am good at, such as animals or etymology. There's no tolerance for anyone who dares to correct me on my chosen specialties and my closed mind made it impossible to learn more.
  I am THE dog trainer, THE dog behavior and breed expert, THE horse trainer and equestrienne. I was the one to give the lectures, instructions, corrections, critiques or praise regarding the aforementioned subjects. My ego grew so big, that now I wonder how I didn't need double doors to get into my own house!
  My grand dreams of being an 'Ultimate Authority' on animals like some omniscent know-it-all, tended to put so much pressure on myself to be the best that it blinded me to reality. I remember scolding someone online for having too many dogs in one house. I told that person how bad they were to crowd the dogs without even listening to what she had to say. She sent an e-mail later, informing me of how she was a Foster Mom for dogs and the organization couldn't find enough good foster homes and people to adopt all those dogs and she was overwhelmed! She told me to put my paws where my mouth was and open my eyes to those in need.
  Wow. Talk about a humbling experience! While I was busy lecturing and judging others about what -they- should do to help, I've done exactly squat! We exchanged about a dozen daily e-mails and phone calls about what she was doing, and told me all about the organization she worked for. She was fostering 3 dogs and 2 puppies, but there were over a hundred other dogs that need foster homes and forever homes!
  While we talked, I had Michael W. Smith playing and his words finally soaked in:
  "Cause if we look to pass the blame
  We are not the worthy bearers of His name
  
  Chorus:
  For the world to know the truth
  There can be no greater proof
  Than to live the life, live the life
  There's no love as quite as pure
  There's no pain we can't endure
  If we live the life, live the life
  Be a light for all to see
  For every act of love will set you free"
  I put in the application to foster dogs into a great place called '4 the love of dogs.' After 2 weeks of grueling interviews, paperwork, phone calls and e-mails, they finally said I was 'allowed' to foster! These peopel REALLY CARED about the dogs even for a Foster home--the Forever Home Application and interview process was even longer!
  On December 21st, I drove to Connecticut to pick up my brand new Foster puppy. She's 4 and 1/2 months old with a lovely chocolate brindle coat and four pretty white paws. The puppy's overcrowded foster mom told me she was abandoned along with her litter! My heart went out to the Staffordshire Terrier/Italian Greyhound mix, so I bundled her in a warm coat during that nasty blizzard and brought her home.
  Sadie and I are now part of the system. Instead of me lecturing and yapping about what people -should- do, I AM doing it. I'm Livng the Life now and it feels GOOD!
- Blog post
- 11 months ago
- Views: 115
- Not yet rated
Zurama
- Views: 70
- Since: 1 year ago
We're so alike!
- From: smurfybench
- Description:
  
  Despite our physical differences, many humans and dogs have very similar behaviors and reactions in identical situations. It's very reassuring to know that the human and canine bond remains strong even today.
  
  Postures, facial expression and gestures play a significant part in dog language. They're willing to overlook the fact that we have no tails or ears to give them 80 percent of clues to our moods and canine communication skills. Dogs instead rely on our tone of voice, hand gestures and body postures to interpret us. They give us the honor of treating us like fellow dogs. A high pitched, excited voice, clearly displays our joy to dogs and they respond in kind with tail wagging and probably a playful gesture on their part.
  
  It really makes me think how alike we are. If we hear a sudden noise, what are our first reactions? Cringe a moment, mutter an exclamation of suprise and then find the source of the noise. What does the average dog do? Cringe a moment , utter a "MOOF?" of surprise, and then move on to find the source of the noise. Identical reactions!
  
  When we're angry, we employ 2 scenarios depending on who we're mad at. The first situation is to stare down someone, square our shoulders, wave our hands in large, threatening gestures and speak in a much louder voice. The postures, hand gestures and stronger pitch indicates that we are not only trying to make ourselves look bigger, but also think highly of our opinion and are unafraid of the confrontation. Have you ever watched a police dog that's confronted with an angry, criminal that shouts at an officer? The dog puts up his/her ears and tail, raise the fur on their back and bounces their forepaws off the ground again and again, in an attempt to look bigger. They bark loudly and repeatedly, while keeping an eyelock on the antagonist. The physical and verbal similarities are obvious in this first scenario. Surprisingly, the second scenario shows similar human and canine results.
  
  You're 16 and you just dented your mom and dad's car. They have you sitting on the couch and essentially cornered in the living room. With his arms crossed over his chest, dad paces back and forth with a deep and angry voice, growling furiously at you. The mom yells angrily how you're grounded for a month with no car, computer or tv time, all the while wagging her finger in your face for the length of the diatribe. What do you do? Well, you're cornered on the couch, both parents blocking any retreat. One is pacing and yelling with volatile energy and the other is lecturing in a high pitch voice while making gestures in your face. You hang your head in shame and hunch your shoulders unhappily. You don't really want to look at mom or dad right now, although it's kind of hard to ignore mom wagging that index finger in your face every 2 seconds. What can anyone do really? You might put your hands in your lap and go still, trying not to fidget or your mom will demand/ask if you're paying attention. You're certainly not going to make eye contact with either because the lecture could go on even longer. You sink further into the couch cushion and stare at your hands, your feet, the floor--anywhere but at them. You might put your head in your hands with your elbows resting on your knees. When they've finally finished, both are standing over you (your dad has at least a foot more in height and 50 lbs. over you) and they want a response. There's only 2 things you can say at that point to appease them. In a higher pitched, pleading voice, "I'm sorry!" and in a quiet voice you speak the old stand-by, "It'll never happen again." This is the average appeasement to your parents, effectively ending the session with both parties showing proper submissive and dominant behaviors.
  
  You just caught your dog chewing some furniture to shreds. "NO! BADDOG!" you yell. Your husband comes in at the noise and gets angry as well. Both of you stand over and stare furiously at Fluffy. This means that you and your husband have several feet in height and about 200 lbs. in weight over your dog, so it's terrifyingly intimidating! Your dog cowers with his/her belly to the floor and puts both ears and tail down. You point your index finger at the couch and the dog, yelling loudly in a high pitched voice. Your husband's voice is deeper, sounding similar to a growl. Fluffy tucks in the chin on forepaws and avoids eye contact. His/her tail is tucked under the body and your Fluffy's back is hunched in a submissive, crouching posture. These postures might be accompanied by a high pitched, apologetic whine from your canine friend. By this time, both you and your husband have run out of yelling steam and the baddog lecture is over. The dog cautiously approaches you both. Fluffy's head and tail are kept very low to the ground and tries meets your eyes for a brief instant. Your dog might attempt to lick your hands or face to appease you.
  
  Notice any similar behaviors? The long lasting relationship between us is a proud and long standing tradition. Trust, loyalty and intelligence are the key ingredients to a life long friendship.
- Blog post
- 1 year ago
- Views: 119
- Not yet rated
Chapter one of my book
- From: AmandaAdams01
- Description:
  
  Well, it all started in July of 1989 when my dad took me to a fire-works show. I came home with chiggers. They finally went away but in September, I thought that I got them again when I went out with my friends Ann, Phillip, Carrie and (Carrie’s friend) Mary. We walked through some tall grass on the way to Ann’s house.
  
  At the time that I was fourteen years old I started to stop eating as much; I scratched my feet raw; I lost a lot of weight; I also got colds a lot; I would sleep fourteen hours a day. Every day, I would sleep in and I was always late for school. I always had a decent attendance record at school.
  
  I had a lump on my clavicle (collar bone). I found that out when I was in the school office one day. I was walking to the nurse’s office and a teacher noticed the lump. My mother took me to see our family doctor, Dr. Williams on December 17, 1989. He examined me, put me on antibiotics for bronchitis and asked me to come back for a check up three weeks later. He asked me if I had been scratched by any cats on the under part of my forearm. I told him that I had by my kitten. He told me that it was a possibility that it could be “Cat Scratch Fever”. I thought that was just a song by Ted Nugent! I didn’t know that really existed. Cat Scratch Fever is the bacteria under cats’ claws, which can be transferred by a cat scratching the skin under your forearm. It is transferred into a vein, through your blood stream and affects your lymph glands. When we returned for my follow up with Dr. Williams on January 2, 1990, he noticed that it was a third larger than it was three weeks prior. He called upstairs to a surgeon named Dr. Genender to see if he was available to see me. We set an appointment for day-surgery to remove the swollen lymph node on January 11, 1990. He said that there was a fifty-percent chance that they could determine what it was and a fifty percent chance that they couldn’t.
  
  Come to find out, the next day after my surgery (January 12), Dr. Genender called and asked how I was doing and then asked to speak to my mother. My Mom came back to my bedroom and told me that we had a 3:00 appointment that day to see Dr. Genender. My parents, my older brother, Dan and I went to the appointment. Dr. Genender spoke for about 15 minutes and I was zoning out because I didn’t have a clue as to what he was about to tell us. He was trying to prepare me for what I was about to hear. H finally said, “I hate to tell you this (looking me straight in the eye), but you have Cancer.” He then explained more about the Cancer that I had and what we had to do about it. He said that it was called Hodgkin’s Disease. After we left his office, I was in total shock. My Dad and my brother went home in Dan’s truck my Mom and I went home in the Oldsmobile. My mother and I cried all the way home. When we got to the house, my Mom and I sat in the driveway and cried some more. My mom said to me, “Well, we’re going to have to be strong from here on out.”
  
  The first thing that I wanted to do as soon as I walked in the door was to call my best friend, Christi, whom I had known for a couple of years. When I walked in the door, the phone was ringing. I hoped that it was Christi but instead, it was my Sister-in-law, Sharon. I told her about the news that I just heard. She was in shock and said that she would always be there for me. I got off the phone with her and called Christi to break the news. She had the same reply and said that I could talk to her anytime.
  
  A month before any of this happened, I didn’t know what a Lymph Node was. The best way that I know how to describe it that it’s like a sponge that absorbs your illnesses. There are Lymph Nodes all over your body; along your spine; in your neck; in front of your ears; behind you jaw and in your collarbone. Your spleen is your biggest Lymph Node.
  
  The night that I had my first surgery to have my Lymph Node removed for the biopsy, Dan and I talked in his room for about an hour. When we were finished, I walked into my youngest older brother, Rick’s, room asking him for a hug. I went over to him and laid down next to him. For the first time, we talked about my fears and how I felt about all that was going on. He told me how much he cared for me and that he wanted to be there for me.
  
  Later that night, I wrote about how the day went. All I remembered from the surgery was the doctors putting an oxygen mask on over my mouth, dozing off and waking up feeling like I had something on my tonsils. My mom told me it was from the breathing tube they put down my throat. After we left the hospital, Dan followed us. When we pulled into the driveway, I was about to open the car door and instead, Dan was right there and opened the door for me. He handed me a maroon and a white carnation wrapped in white tissue paper. Maroon and white were his high school colors. He then picked me up and carried me into my bedroom and put me on my bed.
- Blog post
- 1 year ago
- Views: 94
- Not yet rated
airycat
- Views: 87
- Since: 1 year ago
"I Am Sarah"
- From: rammy
- Description:
  
  I Am Sarah
  
  It’s all like a bad dream; really a nightmare. I’m here, hunched before my computer screen, wondering how I could have been so stupid and immature. When you’ve heard me out, you’ll think of other, more descriptive adjectives for my sad self. Crying into my lap doesn’t help at all and I can’t tell my parents, who don’t want to discuss any of my teen woes. And so I’m left alone, with my keyboard and a hope, or dream, maybe, that just one person out there somewhere will answer this prayer for understanding. Condemnation is justified and inevitable, I know, but right now, I can’t bear the thought of it. The only way out may be another lost life; perhaps my own?
  
  You have no doubt seen all of the TV coverage of the raid on the “Yearning for Zion” ranch here in El Dorado, Texas. Like most others that the news anchors addressed their comments to, you probably think that the ‘State of Texas has taken an ugly bull by the horns; that the raid and the resulting capture of four hundred sixteen children from their parents was justified. There’s a song from Porgy and Bess that comes to my mind now. Its title is “It Ain’t Necessarily o”. Well, I guarantee you that the raid should have never happened. And it’s all my fault. That’s the God’s honest truth.
  
  My name is Pattie Hanks and I’m a fifteen year old student at the Sam Houston Junior High. I am no deprived child myself. I have my own room, this computer, two well-meaning parents and a life that most girls my age would envy. I get B’s in almost all of my ninth grade classes and, up till now, I have always felt real good about myself. However, because of what I have done, things are now entirely different; for the last two days I have avoided the mirror. I’ll tell you why.
  
  On April Fool’s Day I was bored. Most of my friends had decided to attend a cook out that night over to Archie Willis’ place. ‘Cause I was the only one in my group who didn’t like Archie, I decided to stay home. Me and Archie had problems that a cook out wouldn’t ever solve. Anyway, I was up in my room and decided to play a prank. Maybe it was to cure a case of loneliness; maybe it was because I thought I was a smartass young gal but it was a terrible, terrible mistake. I made that call that haunts me today.
  
  I called the family shelter hotline and the bad joke began. I told them that my name was Sarah and that I was a member of the Fundamentalist Church of the Latter day Saints. (FCL ) I gave the woman who answered the hotline that name and said that I was sixteen years old and living on the Zion Ranch. Being a social worker, she was immediately interested and sympathetic. She listened to my story that I had been married to a 51 year old man and that I had a young child. I also lied that I was pregnant again and that my husband had physically abused me, breaking my ribs once. The whole story was whispered in low and serious tones. I had starred in our sixth grade play in the role of a woman so I was able to lay it on thick. The social worker insisted that I immediately meet her somewhere so that she could help me. I only started to feel bad about my stunt when the lady choked up and had difficulty speaking to me. She might have even been crying. I hung up the phone quickly, believing that the whole thing was over. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings.
  
  Two days later, as my Dad would say, the crap hit the fan. Police cars, satellite TV trucks and ambulance sirens blared as they raced through dusty El Dorado and out to the ranch. The whole town was on the streets, wondering what was going on. My worst suspicions were confirmed when Mrs.Shelby, in a crowd of women, could be heard above the rest. “They say that a young girl called up and they think she been raped.” The other women moaned together at the news, most agreeing that the call was not unexpected. My heart raced, my mouth went dry and I felt dirty all over. Standing back away from the women now, I felt like I was gonna faint with fear. It could only get worse and it soon did.
  
  At the dinner table that night, Mom and Dad could talk of nothin’ else. Dad told us that 416 children were taken away and would be housed in the coliseum over on Antonio treet. He recounted the events in Utah in the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s, when children were seized from Mormons. Then he went to the subject of the raid at Waco where 74 men, women and children were killed by the government. “I guess that our neighbors at the Zion Ranch had a damn good reason for their paranoia,” he muttered, biting down on a chicken wing. “They’s always talkin’ about terrorists in this country now but I’m beginning to wonder who the real terrorists are,” he went on. Mom just nodded ‘cause that’s what she always did when Daddy started gettin’ serious. I was stiff in my wooden chair, like I imagined a dead body would be. I can’t remember even tasting that chicken, my head was spinning so fast.
  
  It’s been over a month and things are no better. Judge Barbara Walther has already tried to hold a hearing in San Angelo with over 400 lawyers involved. It was pure chaos, as expected. My grades are dropping at school because I can’t think straight no more. Everybody’s wondering who Sarah is; the poor young girl who made the call. Many experts have been brought into town by the state to support their action. One named Marci Hamilton, a professor from New York, of course, has criticized the women from Zion, saying that “they’re doing everything they can to create sympathy. If they can sway the public, then that puts pressure on the prosecutors.” I’m guessin’ that Ms.Hamilton doesn’t have any children! Mr. Parker, the lawyer for the folks at Zion angrily denounced the State, saying that “They know that there’s no arah. She was just their foot in the door.”
  
  Well, Mr. Parker, you’re wrong. I am arah. I am unable to sleep, eat or do much of anything else nowadays. Should I have known that the police in my home State would act like the Nazis? Could I have anticipated physicals for all the women, DNA tests and total separation from their own beloved children? Should I have known that nearly every child advocate in the country would be in town damning the Zion folks? I just read the ranch’s website at captivefldschildren.org where it is said that the State’s standard of proof about alleged abuse is low, not proof beyond a reasonable doubt; just a simple balancing test.
  
  I pray that my God will judge me some day with only one test: “Did she mean for all of this to happen?”
  
  Sarah
  
  I Am Sarah
  
  You have no doubt seen all of the TV coverage of the raid on the “Yearning for Zion” ranch here in El Dorado, Texas. Like most others that the news anchors addressed their comments to, you probably think that the ‘State of Texas has taken an ugly bull by the horns; that the raid and the resulting capture of four hundred sixteen children from their parents was justified. There’s a song from Porgy and Bess that comes to my mind now. Its title is “It Ain’t Necessarily o”. Well, I guarantee you that the raid should have never happened. And it’s all my fault. That’s the God’s honest truth.
  
  My name is Pattie Hanks and I’m a fifteen year old student at the Sam Houston Junior High. I am no deprived child myself. I have my own room, this computer, two well-meaning parents and a life that most girls my age would envy. I get B’s in almost all of my ninth grade classes and, up till now, I have always felt real good about myself. However, because of what I have done, things are now entirely different; for the last two days I have avoided the mirror. I’ll tell you why.
  
  On April Fool’s Day I was bored. Most of my friends had decided to attend a cook out that night over to Archie Willis’ place. ‘Cause I was the only one in my group who didn’t like Archie, I decided to stay home. Me and Archie had problems that a cook out wouldn’t ever solve. Anyway, I was up in my room and decided to play a prank. Maybe it was to cure a case of loneliness; maybe it was because I thought I was a smartass young gal but it was a terrible, terrible mistake. I made that call that haunts me today.
  
  I called the family shelter hotline and the bad joke began. I told them that my name was Sarah and that I was a member of the Fundamentalist Church of the Latter day Saints. (FCL ) I gave the woman who answered the hotline that name and said that I was sixteen years old and living on the Zion Ranch. Being a social worker, she was immediately interested and sympathetic. She listened to my story that I had been married to a 51 year old man and that I had a young child. I also lied that I was pregnant again and that my husband had physically abused me, breaking my ribs once. The whole story was whispered in low and serious tones. I had starred in our sixth grade play in the role of a woman so I was able to lay it on thick. The social worker insisted that I immediately meet her somewhere so that she could help me. I only started to feel bad about my stunt when the lady choked up and had difficulty speaking to me. She might have even been crying. I hung up the phone quickly, believing that the whole thing was over. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings.
  
  Two days later, as my Dad would say, the crap hit the fan. Police cars, satellite TV trucks and ambulance sirens blared as they raced through dusty El Dorado and out to the ranch. The whole town was on the streets, wondering what was going on. My worst suspicions were confirmed when Mrs.Shelby, in a crowd of women, could be heard above the rest. “They say that a young girl called up and they think she been raped.” The other women moaned together at the news, most agreeing that the call was not unexpected. My heart raced, my mouth went dry and I felt dirty all over. Standing back away from the women now, I felt like I was gonna faint with fear. It could only get worse and it soon did.
  
  At the dinner table that night, Mom and Dad could talk of nothin’ else. Dad told us that 416 children were taken away and would be housed in the coliseum over on Antonio treet. He recounted the events in Utah in the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s, when children were seized from Mormons. Then he went to the subject of the raid at Waco where 74 men, women and children were killed by the government. “I guess that our neighbors at the Zion Ranch had a damn good reason for their paranoia,” he muttered, biting down on a chicken wing. “They’s always talkin’ about terrorists in this country now but I’m beginning to wonder who the real terrorists are,” he went on. Mom just nodded ‘cause that’s what she always did when Daddy started gettin’ serious. I was stiff in my wooden chair, like I imagined a dead body would be. I can’t remember even tasting that chicken, my head was spinning so fast.
  
  It’s been over a month and things are no better. Judge Barbara Walther has already tried to hold a hearing in San Angelo with over 400 lawyers involved. It was pure chaos, as expected. My grades are dropping at school because I can’t think straight no more. Everybody’s wondering who Sarah is; the poor young girl who made the call. Many experts have been brought into town by the state to support their action. One named Marci Hamilton, a professor from New York, of course, has criticized the women from Zion, saying that “they’re doing everything they can to create sympathy. If they can sway the public, then that puts pressure on the prosecutors.” I’m guessin’ that Ms.Hamilton doesn’t have any children! Mr. Parker, the lawyer for the folks at Zion angrily denounced the State, saying that “They know that there’s no arah. She was just their foot in the door.”
  
  Well, Mr. Parker, you’re wrong. I am arah. I am unable to sleep, eat or do much of anything else nowadays. Should I have known that the police in my home State would act like the Nazis? Could I have anticipated physicals for all the women, DNA tests and total separation from their own beloved children? Should I have known that nearly every child advocate in the country would be in town damning the Zion folks? I just read the ranch’s website at captivefldschildren.org where it is said that the State’s standard of proof about alleged abuse is low, not proof beyond a reasonable doubt; just a simple balancing test.
  
  I pray that my God will judge me some day with only one test: “Did she mean for all of this to happen?”
  
  Sarah
- Blog post
- 1 year ago
- Views: 43
- Not yet rated
Lisa
- Views: 191
- Since: 1 year ago
gift4words
- Views: 222
- Since: 1 year ago
winterflower11
- Views: 109
- Since: 1 year ago
wrose
- Views: 100
- Since: 1 year ago