Sunday Poetry, a Spiritual Retreat



I see moonlight and cherry blossoms

I see heavenly sun rays and angels from above

I see children laughing and playing

We are but one humanity

We breathe the same air

Let us embrace and hold one another

The arms of Jesus open wide

And we run into His arms and cry

Oh Heavenly father do you hear my cries?

Only a mother will understand the pain

Only a mother knows true love from within

Only a mother will be by His side


Fear not friends.  I am alive and well.  My husband has refused to let me tweet, my phone has been confiscated.  I am not banned, I am on a retreat.  My husband wanted alone time with me and I must oblige him.  I hope you are all well.  I hope that you too may see the cherry blossoms and embrace every new morning with the same type of beauty and passion that I do.  With Jesus by your side you will never need a compass.

This week I received so much abuse and insults that I was reminded how similar I am to Jesus Christ.  He too was suffered for his beliefs.  He too was crucified in the name of free speech and right of expression.  Am I not allowed to believe what I believe?  Am I not allowed to speak with the tongue of Christ? I AM The incarnate.  I am the Messenger.  If not me, then who I ask?

If you cannot water my garden, do not leave your footprints in the mud.  MY home,  MY sanctuary.  MY God.





13 thoughts on “Sunday Poetry, a Spiritual Retreat

  1. I joke about “ignoring” you, Mrs. Mayers, but I’ve got to be honest: I come here multiple times every day. I’m addicted! 😊


  2. Bind us together Lord
    Bind us together
    With cords that cannot be broken
    Bind us Together Lord
    Bind us together
    Bind us together with love

    There is only God
    There is only one King
    There is only one body
    This is why we sing

    (Thank you for all you do for us, Mrs. Mayers. God bless you and your amazing daughters.)


    1. do you really think any of these “Valerie’s” are the real one? Doubt it, given the history of impersonation on this blog.


  3. That stupid woman who shot her daughters should’ve shot you then committed suicide. You are both “ungodly” whores


  4. Well, that’s about the worst excuse for a poem I’ve ever heard. Robert Frost just rolled over in his grave and threw up. Horrible.


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