Facing Difficulties


People have been telling me recently that I am not facing intense difficulties because I have done wrong. It is because my Maker is testing me to prove that I am strong enough to withstand the tempest.

Gale force winds battering me from one direction might find me hardened. Ready to face another onslaught.

The challenge is when trouble comes like a hurricane. Plummeting. Giving a lull and then sprinting with vengeance from the opposite direction.

It unearths what was shaken.

Topples what was not pinned down.

And tugs untiringly like a hound at a rag soaked in blood.


Maybe if I could find times of respite,

I would be able to rise above

……….the relentless,

………………..seething challenges.

© 2011 Thora McClean Greaves. All rights reserved.




Photo Credit: http://www.savevid.com/dailytop/2013-11-15/
© 2/24/14 Thora McClean. All rights reserved.

It towered over me!

Blocked my view of what I could see.

Of what lies ahead.


With its daunting heights and rugged edges;

Its rocks hung precariously from cracks and ledges.

I stepped back.

Could not follow that trail.

What stood before me was not real.


I was immobilized by a shadow!


I Wear Black


Photo credit: http://chalii.deviantart.com/art/Black-hat-woman-379522043
© 1997 Thora McClean. All rights reserved.


All the world’s in red

But I wear black.


Black for the buxom beauty

Supporting baby with one hand tied

Not a man by her side.


Past the heaving and heavy breathing;

Past the yearnings of a silent night.


Uncoiling like a serpent,

Ready to strike

Anything that moves.

Anything in sight,

That has the semblance

Of a life passed on.


A life full of emotion

A life flown.


Like a phantom!


On this day I wear black.

Black for inactive hormones

Like the embers of a fire;

Needing a stir;

A sweet whispering.




On this day

I wear



Bring Them Home


Tuesday was very cold. I agreed to meet someone at his home. No problem, I thought. It would be a professional meeting, Five o’clock in the evening. I only had to travel about two miles. One quick right turn. There was I on a deserted snow covered road.  More snow was piled on one side than the other. Where was this “first house”? The one with a boarded up door? With a light, cream colored curtain at the front window? There was no plowed driveway. No tracks from heavy boots.

I pulled to the side of the road to call his daughter. Two vehicles passed me going in the same direction. The SUV stopped and pulled to the same side of the road. Maybe about ten to fifteen feet ahead of me. I remained on the phone to verify where I was going. Time was precious. Was it possible that the driver was diligently waiting to see if I wanted help or not? I drove off and lowered my speed as I got next to him. I wanted to signal that I was alright. His head remained straight. I could not see his eyes with those “Unabomber” sunglasses. His affect was flat. Not like a man interacting with someone on the phone. If a white seagull had passed so close to my window, I would have acknowledged it.

One quarter of a mile down the road, I looked and his vehicle was still there. Parked with flashing lights. In two shakes of a bird’s tail I noticed the vehicle again. This time it seemed like it was five feet behind me. He kept driving close to the back of my car. Then veering off. Doing the same thing. Again and again. Like he was making the letter “s” in the road. Ten to fifteen harrowing seconds. Time stretched like a rubber band!

I tried to keep my composure as best as I could. He must have noticed what I was doing.  Phone to my ear. Eyes on the rearview mirror. Hey lady on the line! Someone crazy is trying to force me off the road! If I pull to the side who knows if I would get stuck. I refused to do either. He had enough room to overtake. On this empty, mile long road.

A blue truck suddenly came from the opposite direction. He quickly made a left turn without any indication that he would. I can only surmise. About his intentions. I can only thank God for His protection. That morning I was twice a Samaritan. To an old lady. Then to a woman.

My heart goes out to women who truly suffered. Left a handbag in an empty car. Rushed from one place to another. Helplessly. Blinded by such scenarios. Disarmed by predators. Under the pretext of being kind.

Bring our women home!

Bring them back to the spaces they left behind. To the place on the side of the bed they kept warm. To their unborn children. Their heartbroken parents.

Bring them home.

Leave them.



If Only

I hold you as best as I could. My not so small arms hug you from the back. As you lay down. Fetal position. Cringing in intense pain.

Vulnerable enough to share that moment. Soft enough to let me hold you.


An emotional experience bonds two souls.

One painfully intense time.

One wish. To transfer sensations of pain from one body to another.

If only for one second!


To Suffer in Silence


I would love to suffer in silence. For Christ’s sake. Not fake it. Not take blame for that which I have not done.

Not that I want to suffer, but if it be my lot, may it be done without a mumbling word to anyone.

Not that I should feel justified, or hit the gavel to condemn another. In His courtroom there are soured relationships. Between sister and sister. Sister and brother. Saints pitted against each other. Clamoring for the enviable position of serving Him best. Testing each other’s dedication and patience. In-fighting. Giving resistance. Hugging hostilities at times when one’s mind should be at rest.

My stoical persona does not want to cater to the restlessness of a fighting spirit. I do not want to suffer. But if I do, may I not say a word.

May I be silent;

But may my silence be heard.


No Mother Should Have To


A mother should never have to bury a son nor a daughter. Neither should a father. I watched you over the years. How you took care of him. Carried his food to his room from the kitchen. When his tightened tendons were too tender to take him. You never appeared to be bothered by the hours that he spent as he transferred the warmth of his hands to his Nintendo or Xbox. When he made intimate contact as his eyes lovingly interacted with the television screen. Day in. Day out. Night after night.

Your days were interspersed with guilt that you had delivered a soul to suffer from sickle cell anemia. Through no fault of your own. The intensity grew when you started to view countdown. Who would care for him when you are gone?

God did not have to have to summon the strength to take him. With wisdom, He decided that it was best to lovingly lift him from the pain. Day in. Day out. Night after night.

When he went, we did not have to bend over. Nor bawl. We found solace in fond, lingering memories. That we had the opportunity to love Brian. To reconnect. To make him giggle and laugh. To offer spiritual guidance. To place him on our back.

No one should have to bury a son.

No mother!!

…….Should ever!

…………..Have to do