go down, death

Weep not, weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus. Heart-broken husband—weep no more; Grief-stricken son—weep no more; She's only just gone home. Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And his eye fell on Sister Caroline, Tossing on her bed of pain. And God's big heart was touched with pity, With the everlasting pity. And God sat back on his throne, And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand: Call me Death! And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice That broke like a clap of thunder: Call Death!—Call Death! And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven Till it reached away back to that shadowy place, Where Death waits with his pale, white horses. And Death heard the summons, And he leaped on his fastest horse, Pale as a sheet in the moonlight. Up the golden street Death galloped, And the hoof of his horse struck fire from the gold, But they didn't make no sound. Up Death rode to the Great White Throne, And waited for God's command. And God said: Go down, Death, go down, Go down to Savannah, Georgia, Down in Yamacraw, And find Sister Caroline. She's borne the burden and heat of the day, She's labored long in my vineyard, And she's tired— She's weary— Go down, Death, and bring her to me. And Death didn't say a word, But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse, And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides, And out and down he rode, Through heaven's pearly gates, Past suns and moons and stars; On Death rode, And the foam from his horse was like a comet in the sky; On Death rode, Leaving the lightning's flash behind; Straight on down he came. While we were watching round her bed, She turned her eyes and looked away, She saw what we couldn't see; She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death. Coming like a falling star. But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline; He looked to her like a welcome friend. And she whispered to us: I'm going home, And she smiled and closed her eyes. And Death took her up like a baby, And she lay in his icy arms, But she didn't feel no chill. And Death began to ride again— Up beyond the evening star, Out beyond the morning star, Into the glittering light of glory, On to the Great White Throne. And there he laid Sister Caroline On the loving breast of Jesus. And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears, And he smoothed the furrows from her face, And the angels sang a little song, And Jesus rocked her in his arms, And kept a-saying: Take your rest, Take your rest, take your rest. Weep not—weep not, She is not dead; She's resting in the bosom of Jesus. -James Weldon Johnson.

graduation party theme:

half name stealing, beanie baby sharing, swimming, emergency saving, dancing, mummy riding, double trauma planning, birthday laughing, surfing, shopping, shoe trying on-ing, picture taking, cd buying (hush sounding), relative sharing, flying, pal package sending, phone bill raising, credit card maxing (plane tickets), itunes swapping, boy talking, plotting, bubble blowing, math solving, marshmallow microwaving/eating, graduating, cloned, carbon copied girls. 

<3 kelsey and shelby. 


blast from the past - graduation, T minus a year and a half! 

poetry contest: flower of love.

in the heart of every girl,
there lies a seed down deep,
surrounded by glass,
prince-proof, no more, no less.
this seed lies restless,
awaiting its day,
to be released from chains,
set free from bonds,
by true love's touch.
awakened from sleep,
the seed begins to grow and bloom.
delicate petals with strength of steel,
break through the glass,
cut the ropes,
tear the bonds.
set free at last, it pushes upward,
showing its color on rosy cheeks,
its intrinsic joy in twinkling eyes,
and its passion in every gentle touch.
-kelsey elmore. 

bible. b-i-b-l-e. bible.

okay, so its official, i'm afraid of a book. one little red book. the front reads "LIVE: Holy Bible"- when i already have close to around 10+ bibles, one could begin to wonder why i just bought another one. but i needed to. every bible i've ever had, for the most part, has felt untouchable and off-limits to my color and creativity. it was there to read when i needed to find something for school, but otherwise served as a wonderful dust collector. but now i'm befuddled. my bible came with stickers?? yep. and it has creative space. and pictures. and quotes. and poems. and art. and... stuff that attracts me. that allows me to bring God's word to my life.  i can finally draw, write, and color. highlight, underline, and circle. box, square, and emphasize. decorate, read, listen. 

i'm 15 for a moment
caught in between 10 and 20
and i'm just dreaming
counting the ways to where you are
i'm 22 for a moment
she feels better than ever
and we're on fire
making our way back from mars
15 there's still time for you
time to buy and time to lose
15, there's never a wish better than this
when you only got 100 years to live
i'm 33 for a moment
still the man, but you see i'm a they
a kid on the way
a family on my mind
i'm 45 for a moment
the sea is high
and i'm heading into a crisis
chasing the years of my life
15 there's still time for you
time to buy, time to lose yourself
within a morning star
15 i'm all right with you
15, there's never a wish better than this
when you only got 100 years to live
half time goes by
suddenly you’re wise
another blink of an eye
67 is gone
the sun is getting high
we're moving on...
i'm 99 for a moment
dying for just another moment
and i'm just dreaming
counting the ways to where you are
15 there's still time for you
22 i feel her too
33 you’re on your way
Every day's a new day...
15 there's still time for you
time to buy and time to choose
hey 15, there's never a wish better than this
when you only got 100 years to live


-100 years, five for fighting. 

phrase of the day.

while reading through my apush text, i came upon my phrase of the day. possibly of the week, maybe even month. foppish dandy. 

leaving.

beginnings so joyful, endings so sorrowful. coming so easily, the end sneaking up like a thief in the night. a great burst of hope surges forth, ebbing with the tide, still there, held there by God, but pulled back by the end. 


i got to see him this week, and now this chapter is coming to a close. yet not the close of our book, i do hope, but the beginning of the second book in the series, written by love. love, so often personified, is mistakenly so. how can something that has the ability to cause such pain not be real? personification is unnecessary. love can heal, glue, stab, cut. 


love is like a marshmallow, sweet to the taste, sticky and thick in the inside, powdery, light and fluffy on the outside, and causes cavities in some cases, has no affect in others, yet still in others causes severe hyperness. ponder this, my dear reader, as we begin this new year.