Nancy B. Brewer

Humans are curious creatures. What we cannot see, our logical minds will try to deny.

I am reminded that the children we birth do not belong to us. They belong to God. We are simply the vessel through which they arrive on this earth. We are appointed to care for and guide them; however, we must recognize when the time comes for them to govern their own lives.

Humans will never be in charge of this world, as long as dust and weeds do as they please.

The wind blowing through the cracks in the walls was fitting for this isolated and lonely place.

I believe that all things happen under the watchful eye of God and the lessons we learn along the way only serve to make us stronger.

He was wearing a little bag of __ojo_ around his neck.

Papa was our strength and the very fiber that wove our family together. He was our foundation and our rock, but even rocks, break, given enough stress.

Ain__ nothing too serious. Even death is a joke on the old devil, if we are living for the Lord.

Children worked in the mills: "I will always believe that children are designed for green meadows and play, not for factories and cotton dust.

Listen, my child, to the voices of your ancestors. Take pride in our accomplishments; find your strength in our suffering. For WE are not just voices in the wind, WE are a living part of YOU

I could faintly smell the ocean. I imagined being one of the old oak trees standing there swaying in the wind and braving all sorts of weather. I pondered what they had seen in the past and what they might see in the future

The Baptist Church rejects man with wooden leg: It appears the Baptist preacher refused to baptize a veteran of the late war in the holy water- saying they only baptize flesh and blood, not wood.

Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left, but did you hear me cry out to you!

Are you a traveling man he asked?

To those of you who are enslaved by your past, may my story set you free. For youth is innocent and its beauty is to always be cherished.

I am a survivor. But I am not unique of the people that survived the great late war. We all have our stories to tell. But for most of us the hardened corners have soften with the passage of time.

(The golden goose has died, my prince turned into a frog, the Kingdom is lost, everyone has turned into stone and I am locked in the tower)

Rebel Number Four" is waiting patiently by the door. I named him "Rebel Number Four," for he is the fourth of his kind I have given the name "Rebel." To many he may be just a hound dog, but to me he is a champion and a friend to the end.