The following poem is especially choosen for all who are impacted by Hurricane Ivan:

IN THE VALLEYS I GROW

Sometimes life seems hard to bear,
Full of sorrow, trouble and woe
It's then I have to remember
That it's in the valleys I grow.

If I always stayed on the mountain top
And never experienced pain,
I would never appreciate God's love
And would be living in vain.

I have so much to learn
And my growth is very slow,
Sometimes I need the mountain tops,
But it's in the valleys I grow.

I do not always understand
Why things happen as they do,
But I am very sure of one thing.
My God will see me through.

My little valleys are nothing
Compared to Christ on that torture stake
He went through the valley of death;
When his life his enemies did take.

Forgive me Lord, for complaining
When I'm feeling so very low.
Just give me a gentle reminder
That it's in the valleys I grow.

Continue to strengthen me, Lord
And use my life each day
To share your love with others
And help them find their way.

Thank you for valleys, Lord
For this one thing I know
The mountain tops are glorious
But it's in the valleys I grow!

Have a blessed day!

REMEMBER...
The shortest distance between a problem and a solution
is the distance between your knees and the floor.
The one who kneels to the Lord,
can stand up to anything.
--author unknown

Dear readers, I wrote these few lines especially for those whose lives have been impacted by the viscious and deadly Hurricane Ivan. I hope these words of inspiration might work their way into your hearts and prove to be faith-strengthening, especially at this time:


IN THE EYE OF THE STORM (tribute to those impacted by Hurricane Ivan)

In the eye of the storm is the eye of a God
full of matchless wisdom,
who understands the uncontrollable mystery
of a raging storm and how its turbulence is satisfied.

In the eye of the storm—fierce and scolding,
Is the eye of a God—far more powerful,
who glanced down on his helpless people,
in times of old, split apart the Red Sea;
the congealing waters stood up like walls,
opening up a path so his people walked
on a dry bed of land.

In the eye of the storm is the eye of God—full of love,
that roved through overflowing rivers
through bright shoots of lightning
and saw that mankind needed a savior,
and sent his son to die for e’en the vilest sinner.

In the eye of the storm is the eye of God,
who searches through the shattered visage,
the colossal wreckage,
finds a heart that loves peace,
truth and righteousness, and he cherishes
and keeps this golden nugget.

In the eye of a storm is the eye of a God who sees
multitudes who crouch with horror and grisly fear,
and, howling out their woes they cry:
“O God! O God! Have mercy! Have mercy!”
This God will hearken to their cry.

In the eye of a storm is a God who looks
at the afflicted who run and leave behind all paraphernalia
and watch their homes go up
hurtling through the air and falling as fragments of debris,
This God promises riches untold.

In the eye of a storm is the eye of a caring God
who looks cautiously at violent waves
that abash so many of those who come face
to face with this formidable foe,
and he rescues them.

In the eye of a storm is a God with eyes—amazingly keen,
who through the howling winds that
snapped giant trees like tiny twigs,
can look far into the distance of time—the future
sees into the heart of the deepest grave
at the unsurvived—those who lay in quiet clay.
And brings to life those put there by the ravaging storms.

This God—Jehovah—will quiet all storms
Bring repose to those in distress
Bring about evenings where all
will be at peace—no storm—forever

—Glasceta Honeyghan (2004)

p.s perhaps those of us who read this poem could make hard copies and share with others, because indeed, as long as we are alive, we experience storms--more often figurative storms.

Has anyone heard anything from the flagaman and southfield side. If anyone sees Allan and conroy Boreland tell them I am thinking of them and hoping they are all O.K. Also to my father Wesley and Tracy hope you are doing O.k

Dear readers, here's another thought to reflect on as we struggle to cope with Ivan's aftermath:


THE SPLASHES OF LIFE..

My grandfather took me to the fish pond on the farm when I was about seven, and he told me to throw a stone into the water. He told me to watch the circles created by the stone. Then he asked me to think of myself as that stone person.

"You may create lots of splashes in your life but the waves that come from those splashes will disturb the peace of all your fellow creatures," he said. "Remember that you are responsible for what you put in your circle and that circle will also touch many other circles. You will need to live in a way that allows the good that comes from your circle to send the peace of that goodness to others. The splash that comes from anger or jealousy will send those feelings to other circles. You are responsible for both."

That was the first time I realized each person creates the inner peace or discord that flows out into the world. We cannot create world peace if we are riddled with inner conflict, hatred, doubt, or anger. We radiate the feelings and thoughts that we hold inside, whether we speak them or not. Whatever is splashing around inside of us is spilling out into the world, creating beauty or discord with all other circles of life.

Remember the eternal wisdom:
WHATEVER YOU FOCUS ON EXPANDS...
--Author Unknown

Dear Glasceta:
I do appreciate your sound words of wisdom, so quite appropriate at this time. You are a very talented person. You know, I am very fond of poetry and this type of writing myself.
God bless you my dear.
A grandmother,
Marga

Dear readers, I know it is especially hard for many whose lives have been impacted by Hurricane Ivan. May these few words bring a measure of hope.

A NEW STRENGTH

There are times in every life
when we feel hurt or alone...
But I believe that these times
when we feel lost
and all around us seems
to be falling apart
are really bridges of growth.

We struggle and try to recapture
the security of what was,
but almost in spite of ourselves...
we emerge on the other side
with a new understanding,
a new awareness
a new strength.

It is almost as though
we must go through the pain
and the struggle
in order to grow
and reach new heights.
~ Patricia Kelly ~

This poem is especially written for individuals in Treasure Beach and surrounding villages, who are impacted by Hurricane Ivan. You see, the majority of you are not just statistics. I know you personally by names. I was born in Newell, then I got married and lived in Treasure Beach for a while. I am related to some of you by blood, by faith. I sat with many of you in your homes, ate with you, and shared our woes. I taught many of you in schools--Newcome Valley, Geneva, Newell Secondary, St Elizabeth Technical High School, and Bethlehem Teacher's College. So, you see your names are too numerous to mention here. But I want to let you know I feel your pain, and I am doing all I can to support you at this time. Perhaps the money I am trying to help raise, won't get to you directly, but I am here using the extraordinary gift of words to comfort you. For those who have access to TBNet, try to make copies and get to those who don't.
In addition, this poem is for all readers, because, indeed we all are impacted by a storm of some sort--mentally, emotionally,economically, and so on. Im using this column to appeal to all readers to support the victims. Approach your bosses, supervisors, friends, families, and workmates for some monies to assist these ones, who are in need.


THE TERROR OF A STORM (Tribute to those whose lives are Impacted by the fury of Hurricane Ivan)

The world’s gone mad about terrorist attacks,
But don’t be fooled my friend, because
we are mastered by an advancing and furious foe
that seeps into the everyday rhythm of some,
With rapid quavering cadence
And ruin our tranquility.

It’s the fisherman who
watches the wind-tossed waves
jump high, and with a swift drawing roar,
it retreats and sucks in his only boat and net
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s the aged man who
Quiver in the loins, who,
through a veil of haze
watch his life-time’s worth
lifted and tossed upside down
in a hopeless heap,
And he must work toward a fine forgetfulness,
For there’s no time left to rebuild.
That is too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s the farmer toiling long and hard
Then watching in confused alarm
the tiny seedlings set in rows,
rush off and down a gorging gully way
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s the small business owner—uninsured
Who watch his roof a-sail and
his flood-drenched merchandise,
and the only retribution is a slow-coming hope
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.


It’s the couple passionately awaiting
The church to exchange vows—now
flung off its foundation
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s evacuating your home—reluctantly,
Then returning to bareness
And where’s your neighbor’s?
Flattened as if by a roller.
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s listening to the rocketing thunder
It’s the poor made twice as poor;
It’s watching those in prosperous homes run as if there’s a siege
It’s clocks that have ceased
It’s boughs broken, trees lain
It’s the thumping rain like a dreaded hand
It’s telephones silenced
It’s water-soaked beds
It’s smokeless fires
It’s none behind the gas pump
It’s the repeated refrain, “Why me? Why me?”
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s like the heavens filled with too much tears,
Rains down on man its weighted woe
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s the terrified child squealing
and the mother squealing back
because there are no comforting words
to rise above her ragged heartbeat
That too is terror, and no
power of man can turn it back.

It’s the children looking
at their playground, now an untidy spot, a stream-bed
It’s the sight of the quiet river
swelling and brimming from bank to bank
That is terror too, and no
power of man can turn it back.

And where are all the flowers, the vegetation gone?
It’s the earth left in a woeful state
blasted and laying untidy like a distinct damnation
And there are those of us—spared
And the mystery remains, “are we judged
more worthy than the other man, who
experiences even a greater haunting fear
When he hears another storm is near.”
That is terror too, and no
power of man can turn it back.

And this dreadful thing must run its course
As we take fresh tasks of cleaning Nature’s handiwork
And look forward to a land of hope, when
We’ll be led by the Greater Leader—Jesus Christ
Who stilled the waters of the storm-tossed sea, and
Will guide our hand to quiet shores where all
Terror will be gone.
--Glasceta Honeyghan, 2004

EVERY SUNRISE

Every sunrise is a present, a gift from God above,
Gift-wrapped with scarlet ribbons and tied with bows of love.

Each day's a new beginning, a time to start anew,
While all the stars are sleeping, and the rose is fresh with dew.

Every day's a new creation, too lovely to ignore,
And we may find a blessing, just outside our door.

We cannot keep the past, like fireflies in a jar;
Nor journey to the future by wishing on a star.

Every sunrise is a blessing, a gift for just today.
Rejoice, my friend, embrace it before it fades away!

~ Author Unknown ~

Dear readers, this is yet another poem for those impacted by Ivan and are feeling somewhat despair

YOU STLL HAVE HOPE

If you can look at the sunset and smile, then you still have hope.

If you can find beauty in the colors of a small flower, then you still have hope.

If you can find pleasure in the movement of a butterfly, then you still have hope.

If the smile of a child can still warm your heart, then you still have hope.

If you can see the good in other people, then you still have hope.

If the rain breaking on a roof top can still lull you to sleep, then you still have hope.

If the sight of a rainbow still makes you stop and stare in wonder, then you still have hope.

If the soft fur of a favored pet still feels pleasant under your fingertips, then you still have hope.

If you meet new people with a trace of excitement and optimism, then you still have hope.

If you give people the benefit of a doubt, then you still have hope.

If you still offer your hand in friendship to others that have touched your life, then you still have hope.

If receiving an unexpected card or letter still brings a pleasant surprise, then you still have hope.

If the suffering of others still fills you with pain and frustration, then you still have hope.

If you refuse to let a friendship die, or accept that it must end, then you still have hope.

If you look forward to a time or place of quiet and reflection, then you still have hope.

If you still watch love stories or want the endings to be happy, then you still have hope.

If you can look to the future and smile, then you still have hope.

If, when faced with the bad, when told everything is futile, you can still look up and end the conversation with the phrase.... "Things could be worse,,," then you still have hope.

Hope is such a marvelous thing.

It bends, it twists, it sometimes hides, but rarely does it break.

It sustains us when nothing else can.

It gives us reason to continue and courage to move ahead, when we tell ourselves we'd rather give in.

Hope puts a smile on our face when the heart cannot manage.

Hope puts our feet on the path when our eyes cannot see it.

Hope moves us to act when our souls are confused of the direction.

Hope is a wonderful thing, something to be cherished and nurtured, and something that will refresh us in return.

And it can be found in each of us, and it can bring light into the darkest of places.

NEVER lose hope.

~ Author Unknown