Random Thoughts of Amy Potts

I am from bean fields and corn and from Iowa from a house that was large and full. I am from hollyhocks whose flowers were made into dolls I am from a town whose boundaries  seemed endless though so small. I am from dreaming and imagining;  from playmates, pets and playgrounds I am from conversations with Pat and Rose,  with Carol Johns  and Mrs. Delambert; Gertrude was her name. From piano lessons and the prairie song I am from black cherry soda at the baseball park in summer I am from a small school whose teachers taught more  than academics;  about life and caring and fun. I am from the wrong side of town  where I was often looked down upon; from hand sewn clothes and hand-me-downs. I am from homemade bread and milk fresh from the cow Because it was cheaper than the store brands. From garden grown vegetables and oatmeal with currents I am from homemade stew. I am from a small school where everybody knew my name; where teach

Being 19 or 20 and still single is hard.  The awkwardness of dating and dead end relationships is frustrating at best. That and watching your friends get married leaving you in the dust of wishes and dreams, is a cruel reality.  You wish for that special someone to come along and you dream of family and dinner at the table each night.  I remember those days. Then one day it happens.  We find the person we dreamed of being married to, or maybe we settled for someone who had at least one of the traits we hoped to find.  No matter the case our lives seemed to have been made complete according to the unwritten rules of society.  Man + woman = happily ever after. Right?  Away we go to every event, every family gathering with our spouse.  Somehow in our wedded bliss we forget about the ones who until the day we found Prince Charming, celebrated our joys and held us in our sadness; those who believed in us when we doubted ourselves.  Maybe it’s not intentional, but to the one left behind it h

Softly she climbs up the stairs hoping to escape the glares Another day another fight she slips away in to the night Years go by she runs a race trying to forget that place She carries all her guilt and shame and thinks that God forgot her name She cries for her freedom Out of the blue he came to her rescue lifted her up from her shame He knew her name he felt her pain he held each tear that she cried he cried for her freedom Painfully he walked that road carrying my heavy load And on that day he saw my face He knew my shame would need His grace He cried for my freedom Along with the celebration of our Nation's independence, I'm celebrating another kind of freedom today.  To those who have been hurt and abused and have found freedom, I celebrate with you.  To those who are still waiting in line for that moment, I pray for you and hope that you will find your freedom soon. Blessings this day, Amy Lynn