Francy's New Morning

  Here it is! I received the first copy of my book Randi’s Steps. After eight years of editing off and on, it’s published and for sale on Amazon. What a great feeling! To hold the book in my hands and see the words I’ve struggled with dancing on bound pages—it’s motivation to finish my second book.   Randi's Steps (Amazon books)   PLANTING MY FEET IN THE SHADOWS (a poem after the novel)     At nine years old I was either a dreamer Or superstitious, Or odd;   Following Randi’s steps, I planted my feet In my friend’s invisible footprints; The shadow of her being. Could I transport into her world? Her golden tendrils become mine? Her dimpled smile, mine? Her perfect home, mine?   Minor misstep-- It couldn’t happen, but Dreaming could. As I climbed her steps My hand grasped the iron railing Where her fingers touched Marching behind, Synchronized. Up to her pink room Dappled with dan...

Long Beach Boardwalk, (rebuilt after Superstorm Sandy destruction)  What happens when a home is built on a narrow strip of land between the ocean and the bay? Nothing…until the Day.   The Day of the perfect storm When wind, high tide and full moon collide The ocean greets the bay The narrow strip of land                  Submerged.                                                  The Day divided time,                                       ...

My favorite time of day is when everything stops—when lights are dimmed, outdoor sounds diminish, the bouncing, crashing, bell ringing tunes of Mario Party and other video games end and I can hear myself breathe once more. The best part of this time is reading with my eleven-year-old daughter, Jordan. She has her own quiet time to read a book, but this is our time to read together. I spent many hours reading books aloud when I homeschooled her and her brothers, and miss that the most…so I want to hold onto our evening routine as long as possible, before hanging out with friends becomes the preferred alternative, or she realizes she’s too old for reading with Mom .   I confess I must drink coffee while she reads to me—her soft voice has often lulled me to sleep. If I don’t, I wake, confused and disappointed at missing a whole chapter. Sometimes no amount of caffeine is strong enough, so I stand up and do leg lifts or squats to keep me awake. It’s not just the st...

Something changed the day our son blew out his thirteen candles. He accidentally blew away every ounce of energy he had stored in his growing body.   Come with me and we’ll follow my son throughout his day. I’m sure he’d love to show us one day in the life of a teenage boy.   Knock. Knock. “AJ, are you awake?”    No answer.   Of course, it’s Saturday, pre-baseball season. Therefore, he has no reason to wake before midafternoon. Mornings are often skipped altogether. We’ll have to wait a few hours.   1:00 PM   Knock. Knock. “AJ, are you awake?”   No answer.   “Are you alive?”   “Uhh. Mmmmh.”   Good. That low, rumbling sound means he’s alive and might wake in an hour. We’ll try back at two.   2:00 PM   Knock. Knock.   “AJ, are you awake yet? You missed breakfast, and you’re late for lunch.”   “Yeah. I’m getting up.”   ...

  Jordan builds a fort to prepare for snowball fight with brothers.     Last weekend my family and I traveled from our home in Long Beach, the flattest part of Long Island, to a spot in the Poconos Mountains. Not only the terrain was opposite, but this part of the world sounded nothing like home.    While the kids slept late, I bundled up in as many layers as I could tolerate, squeezed into my boots with double socks and went for a walk up the quiet road. And I mean up. The roads in the Poconos go either uphill or downhill and rarely anything in between. I got to work muscles usually neglected in Long Beach.   After a few minutes passed, I noticed the silence. Only my boots crunched in the icy snow. Unlike home, there were no motors running, no dogs barking, no planes roaring overhead, no cars or trucks or buses zooming by, no taxis honking. I could hear myself breathe. I could hear myself think and pray. Quiet melodies played in m...

            BENEATH THE STAR By Frances Judge   I wasn’t there beneath the star to see Messiah’s birth, And hear the hallelujahs angels sang above the earth.   I didn’t walk the dusty roads and see the lepers healed, Or hear God’s voice from heaven as His love was now revealed.   I never watched Him love the world that pierced His outstretched hands, Creator of the universe, the Son who understands.   But I have seen the Son of God each hour of every day As seeds of sprinkled kindness bloom in fields so far away.   He stirs the minds and willing hearts—His feet still walk this world To help the hopeless, sick and frail; salvation’s plan unfurled.   A man who shares a home cooked meal to bless the weak and poor, And tells them they are not alone; Christ opened Heaven’s door. Sons and daughters hear the calling to leave their comfort zone And travel where the...