An Eternal Flame

I wake in deep thought… dear God, save me as my life is riddled with missing parts. An eternal flame burns for my father whose life was cut short, fifty-five years ago today, by carelessness. Though I am a product of divorced parents, no one can take the place of your biological Father.

I think of all those special moments in life I wasn’t afforded the luxury of my father. We couldn’t build a model together, fly a kite, or throw a ball. He couldn’t teach me to hunt or fish. He never taught me to drive, yet it I became the chauffeur to his own loving mom and dad. My dad never experienced my graduation day, though I pray he looked down upon me from heaven. He didn’t meet my important first date. Late at night, I cried myself to sleep for the many times I missed his love.

The void I tried to fill was grander than a canyon. Nothing can fill the shoes left behind of my six-foot-two, father. This morning, an eternal flame still burns inside me, and I memorialize the father, I did without, in my entire life.

Image of Jean Bicks owned by Bicks Books LLC

Seeking God, I know it is He that connects the bridges of all the days of our lives. My time on earth is limited, too, as I look at my own son and ask God to watch over him. Someday, maybe, he will understand the meaning of picking up the phone and giving his dad a ring. Our moments are too short to waste on regrets.

I listen to the busy world as it is getting underway, but I feel the warmth from the Son shining down from heaven. It is God who has saved me in all my lonely days. Many children grow up in a happy home, and I, too, wish I could claim the same.

The sun is now covered by a swirling storm system. Still, an eternal flame for my father will forever endure whatever weather arrives today. I pray God grants me the moment I can stand by my Father again someday. I’ll give him a hug, he so richly deserves, for making me the son I became in his honor.

It was once said, “You can’t miss something you never had.” I strongly disagree! You can’t imagine what it’s like to walk a mile carrying your own father’s shoes. Yet here I am… throughout my life, without him here, beside me.

“God, my Father, I so pray Your holy hands will guide me all the rest of my weary days alone. Never lead me astray. I pray that not another child will experience the pain I’ve suffered and endured by the loss of my Father. Lord, let me be an example of Your love to other children who has had a parent pass to be with You. Hear my thoughts, on this day of memorial, and tell my father I said hello.”

I love you, Pop. May you rest in peace till the day we will walk in God’s light together.


Setting the example

Setting the example

If you set the right example for your children during their formative years,those bonds of love and respect will be unbreakable. And your children will grow into adults,whom you can be proud of.

Are you grateful to your parents ?

Thank you

Philosophy Through Photography

Credits & Inspiration.pixabay, auroraproductions.

A Day of Remembrance

It’s a day to thank God for all the mothers we know on this Mother’s Day. Our moms are like great trees standing proudly amongst the forest. They bear fruit and give shade to protect us from evil elements. This is a day of remembrance for not just my own mother but to all the others who gave us a life worth living in an unknown existence we call earth.

Where would we be without the beautiful ladies who gave us life? Let me begin with all the pioneers and name worthies in history. What strength and endurance their mothers experienced as they stood on the dock waving goodbye to their child! Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, Jacques Cartier, and other explorer’s mothers must have been devastated to think it would be the last time they saw their sons. Yet, others stand so proud in the light of their children’s accomplishments such as the Steve Jobs, Alexander Bell, and even the great entertainers and athletes of our times. Where would we be without those mothers who created a life that richly blesses our lives today?

One mother, in particular, stands out in my mind and is of biblical proportion. A very young girl, Mary, gave birth to a son who still tries to change the world by His ministry. Jesus, God’s immaculate conception, was like no other child and His mother, too, was like no other woman. The anguish, fear, and heartaches she withstood, and all in the name of love for God. To me, she is the “mom” of all mothers for without her, what would our life be? This is a perfect day to give thanks to the mother who gave us her beloved son.

I also reflect, this day, on the mothers of my childhood days in Severna Park, Maryland. In this small town, the women worked at church and gave the community a special meaning. Some helped in the educational field, turning kids into men and women of great knowledge. Those were the days when moms sat for hours helping with homework, starting showers, and tucking us in bed. It didn’t matter if we were their natural children, adopted, or just a good friend. There’s a lot to be said for the love of a mother, a sobering reminder we’d be lost without them. Happy Mother’s Day, Mother Mary in heaven, for we owe you everything as your precious son died for us so we may be a better servant. Thank you.

Happy Mother’s Day to all and have a blessed day!


Mending cover

It’s the eve of another year past. Life changes and different anatomical pains arise. I made some new friends this year and reunited with some old acquaintances. There were some I wished well and sent them on their way. But, in a summation, I wish I knew where life would find me.

I’m not sad or alone, decrepit or incapacitated but instead, I feel young and vibrant; blessed with vitality and youthfulness. It makes me wonder, because, at my age, I shouldn’t be going ninety miles per hour. If God is making an example out of me, well… He’s doing a pretty good job! So it’s time to reflect on the past hurricanes ravaging my lingering memories. That’s all left to stand.

I ask God to lead me in an effort to comprehend life’s twists and turns. My future path is anyone’s guess, but I can say He’s made miracles happen which are out of my control. I have to decipher my own handwriting when He fills my head with messages. I only wish I could dial the heavens and share the joy with Mom and Dad.

Materialistically, a loss is a sign of weakness, but spiritually speaking, any catastrophe brings strength in times of adversity. Outside forces controlled my earlier years. But for the second half, I’ll return to the point God first touched me. I’m mending this section and my days left in it. I only ask of my Father to protect me. May joy accompany my life, and friendships blossom, yet praise the “love” who kept searching for me. Mending the past to the present is heaven-sent – this makes sense. I only wish I figured out the signs He was sending me thirty-four years ago for there’s no telling the direction my life would yield. Today, a gravitational pull beacons my spirit as God is now my priority.

I’m older tomorrow by one year, and I wonder how many more God will give me to enjoy? Though I lost my parents when I was young, He watches over my hurts and fills my soul with peace. But, how can “sorry” help if no one ever listened to my hurts? Only forgiveness sends messages to the deceased. To patch my broken years, I would have to fill the voids; however, there’s no home remaining, nor church which captivated my soul – just the first place I came in contact with the Almighty.

Mending a broken past with joyful present memories brings me a craving of jubilation. Jesus knows my heart.

Thank you, Lord, for my life!


God bless you, my sweet husband! Your walk in life is the most inspiring I’ve ever witnessed. You are a joy and inspiration to our family and friends! Each day spent with you brings another smile and blessings bountiful. How can we ever thank you enough for “just being you”!

Thank you, God, for the glorious messenger you brought into all our lives!


Not just My “CHILDHOOD” it’s 
Your’s as well…..

It’s a typical house I will say my parental HOME of late fifties of the last century or so (even much much before i was born).
But I have memories to cherish with my sweetest moments of my childhood.There used to be a big open space in front of the house where marriage ceremony of all my four sisters as well we two sons were celebrated with much pump & gaity.

Typical old pattern house 🏡 with a big pond 
on the back yard where a lot of indigenous species of fishes , crabs 🦀 & prawns 🍤 used to be raised with sheds for cows 🐮 with their calves were an added advantage to those days living style.

Lots of coconut 🌴trees , mango plants , pomegranate plants and many more fruit as well as flower 🌺 plants of some excellant varieties were there & still the mango trees bear the best and sweet mangos in summer time.
All these relates to my own childhood where I used to play hide and seek and many more games with kids from our neighbour-hood.
I lost my father when i was hardly 27 years and after 13 years again I lost my mother…..
“MAY BE THE GREATEST LOSS FOR ANY BODY”.Yet knowing well that nothing is permanent on this earth 🌏.

In recent days I have developed a very typical emotional attachment….

“Most of the time , when ever I visit my home 🏡these days I like to wander on the backyard,the pond side and staring at the long coconut 🌴plants and mango trees loathed with ripen mangos & the more I am being attracted to my “mother’s memory” of my childhood of most pampered upbringing”

I know well….
it’s not just my “childhood memories” but every one ☝🏾 of my reader friends here,have the same memories spent with their siblings & parents….not just to remember but to go deep in to “enlightened & emotional thoughts”.


In the loving memories of “CHILDHOOD”.

“It’s just not my memories of my childhood but It’s Our Memories of Our Childhood”

 My Original post : CreativeSiba

Unforgettable Childhood Memory

Music has NOT been my first love. But I do have a certain affinity for the song Memory by Barbra Streisand since I was eight years old.

At the time, singing contests was already popular in the country. There was this one singing contest in a national television show that ran every Sunday. We always looked forward to this show since there were no other forms of entertainment at the time. One of the contestants was a young girl almost my age. Thus, she got my sympathy. I was so awed by her talent because for me, she sang like an angel.

Visit Purposive Writer for the full post.

The dog and the seeds of sensitivity

Our ancestral home was also the residence of a dog, a cat and some pigeons apart from our pet parrot Mitthu.

The dog was very fond of the buffaloes and hence he was found mostly sitting beside them during day and outside their shed (byre/ outhouse) in night. Having a canine near cattle was also assuring to grandmother that no harmful animal or visiting snake would cause any trouble to our two buffaloes and a cow.

Moti, that’s what his name was, mostly was obedient except for the time he used to ply his wit to surprise the cat which was another self-invited member of the family. She liked to sit under guava tree or on the attic in veranda if not in the North-Western room of the house which served as kitchen and storage for food and grains, milk and other supplies.

The cat was afraid of Moti but knew no fear other than that. She knew that inside the house she was invincible for Moti never would cross the door to come inside house and people would only mock to shoo her away most of the time, so she would pounce in her own way annoying ladies of the house. They would shush her and she will not blink an eye; they will throw broom or other handy things to scare her and she will jump from one place to sit at another. She didn’t fear anything until someone chases her away practically.

Moti didn’t like the cat at all due to their natural rivalry and mostly due to the fact that she could help herself with whatever she wanted to eat from home while Moti was dependent on us. So he wouldn’t leave any chance to chase her down to the veranda’s threshold until latter jumps inside house and disappeared. Moti never crossed that threshold to go inside to continue the race. He would stand there for minutes and then lick his ears and legs and shake careless flies from the body and start jump-walking towards the courtyard like he was the king of the palace prodding the red carpet. We didn’t mind him being around and in return of his voluntary service we would give him food thrice a day. He gradually became a non-announced pet.

He was a white stray dog who started coming to us while he was only a pup and we fed him out of sympathy and for our own amusement of watching a ‘tiny’ dog eat meticulously and admire his little movements of paws, jaws and eyes when he ate or played with the food. Sometimes he would sit straight and eat calmly and some others he liked to drag the chapati to the shade of Momjhilli tree and tear it to bits before eating some of it and wasting most part. It was my aunt who named him Moti. He had black patch towards the lower-back portion of his body and also on his tail.

Moti eventually grew into not-so-attractive street dog and ran away from the comfort of homemade food and jute-bag sleeping place to adventures of jungle nearby and fields towards the northern side of the village. Probably he went busy into marking territory for I had heard every dog has to mark one’s, once they are adults. Moti stayed ‘abroad’ for quite a sometime until one-day grandfather found him scratching his ear violently near our tube-well beside fodder’s field.

Grandfather was a man of golden heart. He brought him home and sat down on a Machiya (a small cot like furniture made of wood and woven with jute-made-threads) beside Moti and plucked away bugs from his ears. Then he gave him cooked rice and roti to eat. Probably this was the moment that turned Moti away from everything else earthly and he followed grandfather like an obedient child from that day till the day he died.

One very peculiar incident happened one of those days which sow a seed deep into my heart – of the sensitivity towards animals. This probably is my inheritance too which has passed from grandfather to dad and from him to me. We love animals no matter how dirty, bugged or crippled one is. We found peace in helping them overcome their problems and inconveniences.

However good I am at sensing their feelings now, on that one fateful day I did something very terrible that shook me to core.

During the season of winters, we were playing outside the cattle’s byre beside the Bel tree, when our uncle called us children to help him pick twigs and wood for fire and other sundries we used them for. We were most enthusiastic to go into woods as it was adventurous there, at least during the day time. We have heard scary stories about night behind those tree lines, inside the mango, black plum, blackberry and bamboo ridden forest but day time was fun as we used to go with elders to pick Mangoes, BlackBerrys, Black Plum, Mahua, Karvan, Amla, Imli, Chilbil and herbs. I went to the place where everyone was picking twigs and freshly chopped firewood but instead of picking the same I found myself picking Badhar and Kaitha. Both as delicious inside as bad they looked from outside. While other picked the wood I picked those wild fruits and along with that a long chopped out stick-thin part of a young bamboo tree was also discovered by me. It was green, fleshy and tender enough to be bend in arcs – a perfect material to make a bow. So I made one. Next all I needed was an arrow and I could hunt everything down inside that jungle in front of our home. I found a very arrow-looking material – a thin stick in the husk of the wheat. Practice began and I was compared with great people in no time. Proud and conscious of the recognition I roamed and strolled in and around house showcasing my talent with bow and arrow.

This could have ended here but a strong desire to do something mischievous took me outside the veranda and I, in anticipation of shooting arrow near the Mitthu’s cage and scare him, took aim of beside standing Moti’s left eye from a distance of several feet and swoosh! Arrow hit Moti’s left eye. He ran madly agonized and bewildered. I was scolded and my bow and arrow were brought down to pieces in no time but I was not thinking about them but Moti.

People looked at me with a strange looks and mostly remain devoid of any emotions for days until one evening Moti showed up again with one black and other light greyish eye – the left one. I felt something twisting inside my heart and it seemed some veins gave up; limbs didn’t seem to move and a feeling blocked my throat with a big ball of tears. I know now, it was guilt mixed with pity. I had learnt my lesson with someone else paying a heavy price for it. Moti grew less cheerful than earlier and would rather sleep than chasing the cat or playing around livestock. His grief sowed the seeds of sensitivity towards animals deep in my heart which I carry to this date and are an indifferent part of my life and practices.

Moti stayed with us for many years after I left our ancestral home. He died in a summer due to an incurable disease, away from our home, from all of us. In the jungle, below a blackberry tree.

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Childhood, what a time I wish my life were all like you!
Childhood, what a time so sweet in my life!
Childhood, what a time when others take CARE of us while we enjoy;
childhood, what a time when we live our HEAVEN on earth;
Childhood, what a time when we idle while others work for us;
Childhood, what a time when we conceive big DREAMS;
Childhood, what a time when we think money is not HARD to come by;
Childhood, what a time when we ORDER even our parents to do things for us;
Childhood, what a time when we feel ON top of the world;
Childhood, what a time when we want to DO only as we please.

Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

A little boy

When I was still a little boy,

I can’t say how old I was at the time,

I got to the hill to fetch mushroom;

Up on the hill I lost my way;

And God sent  a Good Samaritan to rescue me;

On his back he carried me home;

And my parents were filled with joy;

Never shall I forget that day; 

Nor the man who saved my life;

A big lesson I learned from there;

We owe so much to others known and unknown;

So let’s be kind to others known or unknown.


Childhood Revisited

What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail, and tell us why you think that experience was the one to stick with you.


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Childhood revisited:I played truant

There are many striking childhood memories that will hardly leave me. The one that comes the most to my mind is how one day I played truant on my way to school.

I was about five years old. That morning, I left home late since I had been slow to get myself ready for school. Unfortunately for me, in my school, pupils were usually severely punished when they came late. It was, therefore, clear that the day would not be a bright one for me.

Fear gripped me; and intensified as I got closer to the school. Suddenly, an idea popped into my mind. I felt the urge to get into a nearby bush and stay under cover until school was over. Then I would return home. The school was about seven kilometers away from our home. This emboldened me as I felt confident that my parents would never knew.

For hours, therefore, I created, for myself, a cozy bed in a thick bush not far away from the school. I knew from that hide-out, it would be easy to know when school would be over and the other pupils would start returning to their homes after school.

That time was not long to come and I stealthily jumped on to the road making sure that nobody saw me. Then I got home.

My parents did not know what had happened. I was very elated that I had succeeded in my plan. Hardly did I know that the worst was on its way; and it did come. My crime was discovered and divulged to the school authorities; and I was severely punished. It served me right. That day, I learned never to play truant again in life.

That experience also remained ingrained in my memory.

Childhood Revisited

What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail, and tell us why you think that experience was the one to stick with you.


<a href=””>Childhood Revisited</a>