STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

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Sept 4, 2005? 

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Another senior writer amazing!?  Joyce Lock, writer # 207 came to us with her words of wisdom on April 27^th, 2005 and has been inspiring us ever since. Congratulations Joyce!

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Now on to the good stuff..........

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Today's Queue Stories
~**~**~**~

? My Journey

? Norma Liles

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As I look over the picture of my entire family, my parents, my siblings and myself, ? I cannot but be thankful for what seemed at some point in my life as a detriment.

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As a youngster, my youngest sister was pampered beyond belief, in my eyes only. She was a fragile child who was compared to a sister that my parents had lost even before I was born.?  She like the sister that they lost was very frail so to compromise for her situation, they sheltered her unmercifully plus doted on her as if she were made of china.

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Please remember that I am viewing this child as a threat to me as I was only 3-1/2 yrs older than she so I turned my feelings inside myself; thinking that I fell short of the ? mark to obtain the same favors.?  This sister only made it in this world through God's favor because Mother almost aborted her several times due to health reasons.?  Mother had had too many children and her body was weary of those endless nights of labor.

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To add misery to heartache,? I was assigned as guardian of my sister while we were ? in grade school.?  This was not to my liking because having been so protected and ? sheltered, she did not relate to other children in a wise way; expecting them to coddle her as she had been at home.?  This did not fair well with my friends as they saw her as a chain about my neck.

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Today, as I look back over the years, Mother installed in me a feeling of protection for my sister that I did not recognize at that time.?  Even though we are aging adults, I still feel that all needs to be all right with her world and I check on her often to see that all is well with her.

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In the scheme of things, I have been able to cope with the world as a whole compared to my sister because I was not favored to the point that I expected it from all sources. Although in my formative years, I thought I was being ignored but yet today,?  I see the beauty in standing up and being counted; having been a self made woman who loves to write her memoirs.

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P.S.?  Never fear,? I love my sister with an undying love!

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NormaLee Liles ?©

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hoopla214@yahoo.com

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About Me:

Norma Liles is a retired data entryclerk/supervisor who lives in Ohio. Her hobbies
are: writing poetry and stories, reading,
her family, living for Jesus and
her use of her computer. Her ambition is
to add pleasure to those who read her
writings as well as sharing her faith.

My writings have been published on Starfish,
Driftwood, Sandollar, Morning Spirit Lift,
www.poetry.com, PrayerofGod, Jan Karon's
newsletter, American Poetry Writer's league,
Lucy's Inspiration, Faithful Hope reading room,
Poetry of Today publishing, Hope in Him,
Bonnie's Place, America will remember and
News Moose. Finally senior writer for
Storytime Tapestry.

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~**~**~? 

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The Man Who Paints the Sunset

Margo Fallis

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On the backside of the hill where the blackberries grow lives The Man Who Paints the Sunset.?  He lives by the sea, and walks looping trails, and by day he combs sea glass from pebbles.?  He places colored pieces on his wooden windowsill, and he watches afternoon sun bleed through them.?  Now his workshop is bathed in kaliedescopic patterns; he shifts pieces, arranges edges, tries new ideas, gains inspiration.?  He is sunset-sketching.?  Yes, that is how today will look, says he, regarding liquid patterns on the wall.?  And finally satisfied with his work, he will eat a sandwich of wild honey and blackberry jam, and will brush the crumbs to the floor.

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Now the afternoon has settled like motes of dust through a sunbeam, and he assembles paints from the jars on the shelves.?  He picks apricot cheeks and tourmaline streaks, nudibranch smiles and wiles of indigo wind.?  And a brush of soft wind and one of smooth wind, a giggle of billowy clouds, and a somber amber canvas.?  All these things he gathers into a wooden box older than the trees.?  And he steps out the door, whips a cloak from a drawer, which swoops in a flourish around him.

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The path he chooses is the same as before and as ever and as more, and the wind licks his robes like a lion.?  The long yellow grasses bow as he passes, and the blackberries watch him with deep ruby eyes.?  They do not snag his soft cloak nor scratch his old skin, for they know this man from ages and seasons.?  Along the trail the earth is worn smooth and the boulders are pliant and helpful.?  Like old friends, they guide his sandaled feet down the cliffs to the sand.

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And soon he reaches the edge of the sea.?  He breathes of ancient watery smells and intertidal smells, and he nods to the waves as they greet him.?  Eager ghost crabs peek up from their hiding places; sand fleas crouch patiently near him.?  They are quiet in late afternoon.

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He opens the box, placing the paint in a crescent-shaped palette made of iridescent abalone shells.?  He lifts his brush, long and slender in the fading light, like a conductor poised to begin a symphony.?  He hesitates, fills his chest, and sighs.?  His arms fall limply to his sides.?  He waits.?  He looks at the shells filled with liquid light, catalogs the brushes and clouds.?  Neap tide recedes.?  He shakes his head sadly.?  It is not meant to be this way.

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Now the sky is tantalum grey, the end of the day, and today there will be no sunset.?  A fiery sun is enveloped by darkled sea, silently.?  No colors bleed and swirl, no paintings stain the sky.?  For you see, the Man Who Paints the Sunset is too lovesick to paint.

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It was never meant to be this way; but you were there on the beach last Sunday.?  He watched you sitting on his driftwood seat.?  On your lap you held a sheet of thick paper - paintbrush poised - waiting for the sunset to begin.?  The brushstrokes you used mimicked his, the colors inspired from the sunpaints he spread across the sky.?  Your attentiveness made him flustered; he stopped before staining the low-lying clouds pale peachblossom pink, as he had planned that afternoon.?  He hardly knew what to do with the queasiness that clutched his stomach.

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Margo Fallis
margofallis @ yahoo. net

Margo Fallis, born in Scotland, spends a
lot of her time traveling. Most of her
stories come from experiences she's
encountered during a journey somewhere.
Margo started writing at age 10, when she
wrote a play for her 5th grade class inCalifornia. Writing for children is her
number one love, but she also loves to
write short stories and is working on three
novels. Margo is the mother of five
children, seven grandchildren, and is
married to Thom, the love of her life.
They live in Atlanta, Georgia.

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~**~**~

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~ 100% Return ~

Joyce C. Lock
One Hundred Percent Return
On Your Investment - Guaranteed!!!

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? ? ?  And, you don??™t have to pay financial advisers, investment firms, or risk being conned by, yet, another mail order advertisement.?  In fact, there is no money required. Isn??™t that cool?

? ? ?  Jesus said, "Everyone that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or lands for my name??™s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life," Matthew 19:29.

? ? ?  So, there you have it!?  When you give God one hundred percent, you get one hundred percent, guaranteed!?  It??™s that simple.?  Either you spend a lifetime of tending to your business, your way, or you let God take care of it for you.?  You either believe Him or you don??™t.

? ? ?  But, there is one thing you can take to the bank: God pays all His debts.

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?© by Joyce C. Lock
http://our.homewithgod.com/heavenlyinspirations/
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Poetry Section

~**~**~

Butterfly Set Free

Maria Doherty

Caterpillar writhes,
In chrysalis transforming,
Butterfly set free.

Sadness fills my soul;
Little deaths foretell new life.
Dark brings light to dawn.

Lost in shadow land,
Light and darkness madly dance,
Stumbling I follow.

Dense dark clouds disperse,
Chased by winds across the sky,
Daylight following.

Words flourish softly,
Flowing rich from the deep source,
Flowering blood red now.

mariadoherty@blueyonder.co.uk

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Announcements

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Melba Moore will be on the air with me live! Tune in
www.artistfirst.com 7pm est today Monday 29, 2005. It seemed so far off
but the time has come, listen to my show First Cut and find out what
this song bird has been up too! You don't want to miss this interview.


Regards,
Nicole Stevenson

Stevenson15n@aol.com
Radio Host First Cut

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Prayer Requests and Updates

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? SENIOR WRITERS

Chief Writer: Sharon Bryant

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? Agee, Vance;?  Apted, Violet;?  Baker, Kathy;?  Batt, Al;?  Berry, Nell;

Boda, Ginger;? ?  Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;?  Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark;? 

Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Goodier, Steve;?  Halley, Ellie Braun;

Harris, Kathy Anne;?  Hunt, Sharlette;? 

Jacobson, Gary;?  Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma;?  Lock, Joyce;?  Mazzella, Joe;? Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

?  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;?  Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan

Walker, Bill;?  Walker, Joe;? Warner, Gorden K;

Whirity, Kathy;?  White, Robert;

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STORYTIME TAPESTRY STAFF

Publisher: Carol Roach-founder

Moderator: Thelma Hartselle-co founder

Moderator: Clara Westerfer

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