|Posted by email@example.com on February 20, 2017 at 2:10 AM|
The train passes inthe middle of the night to share the visions of the days we would like to forget. My days are accounted for even those I forget because the Lord keeps watch over them as he proteccts and guides.
One day I locked my keys in my van, it was a simple act of forgetfulness, yet the day I left the post office on April 15, 1992 is a day I can never forget. That man at the light gave me a terrible fright. I thought of the vunerability so many women face. I drove safely home not knowing the fate of another young girl that looked like me that night.
She not only died, but her mystery remains a terrifying thought of who would do such a thing. The why, the who, the what ifs, flood so many. She was so beautiful, so young. It was so voilent, so public. Her life left a mark that no one can erase. The how she got there question simply began to justify there was a trace of someone, but who? And the why...is the question that's been in everyone's face.
Ignoring the rumors and finding the facts is simly something the officers faced and still today, the case remains unsolved. Cold. Doesn't anyone have a guess?
Wanting peace for the family, the town. Needing apiece for the case, I simply shed ink to a page to allow some sort of grace. AN answer could unfold for some, but not for all. The metaphors might just find their rightful place.
The truth I know is that Jesus was real. He is real. His story was shared so all might hear that when something terrible is near, Mother Mary can hear.
With a gift of a prayer, a spirit can share. Spirits do soar and often board a train in the middle of the night.