Evening in Paris dancing with the King

“REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not  (before the days of sickness and death come) nor the years draw nigh ( before we grow old), when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;” Ecclesiastes 12:1

Oh this is a oh, oh, oh post. Which is the sound of my heart and I did want to do this as a memorial and had planned to at a much later date but all writers know one thing for a surety, writing is often therapeutic and I kinda lost it yesterday at a funeral home.

It has been a fast hard journey and lots of needless strife added to the mix of sleeping maybe a few hours out of every thirty for a solid month, physically exhausted and bewildered, heartbroken, and well just broken led me to a complete meltdown while at the casket my sister picked out for our Mom. We were telling the funeral guy what we needed and her burial dress in it and a couple of “farewell” tokens, and earrings chosen by granddaughters who had come up under her style and grace and chosen it for their own, and her makeup they had also chosen and listed color choices and it was just too real, placing all this in her coffin and trying to explain what was what and why, I found myself almost outside of myself running away screaming and crying and ended up going and laying on the altar at church and God in His mercy somehow calmed me down before I got hit with a straight jacket.

So I thought I’d do this now before I have to face the rest of path of the “golden cords broken”.

She was absolutely one of a kind, and of course ALL our mothers are, so here’s a little about mine.

She was always so beautiful and I remember us walking down the sidewalk going to the drugstore when I was little, her holding my hand and hearing all these whistles, turning to see these guys waving and I asked her what they were doing, and in her classic style, she’d just ignore them and gently look down and say “Honey, it’s just cat calls don’t pay any attention to them.”

Of course it took awhile for my little brain to figure out just was a “cat call” was but being in public with Mom always provided plenty of practice hearing them.

And I WAS the child they could not keep out of their bed and I remember waking up cradled next to her, her arm snuggled around me, looking at her and telling her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world and she’d tell me I was really sweet but that she really wasn’t that I just thought that because she was my mommy, and I said, no, you really are.

I reminded her of that last Sunday night when I was doing my “final” talk, you know all the things she already knew but I wanted to say one more time.

She couldn’t reply because she never spoke a word after last Saturday night, but I told her, she was STILL the most beautiful woman in the world and if I could ever be even half the woman she was, I would be happy and that I did not want her to go but if she needed to go I would see her when I got there and how I love her.

We’d been having these conversations already, my sister and I pulling duty around the clock, me taking night shift because I am her “next door neighbor” and she’d been telling me during our middle of the night chats that she had always loved me and would always love me, and that she wanted hospice when the time came, of course I kept telling her to not say that but that I would honor every wish to the best of my ability.

LESS than one month before this, we had just been on their back porch playing Spades, Mom’s favorite game, Ruby partnering with Dad, and me partnering with Mom, because I ALWAYS partnered with her, even when me and my husband played with them.

I am smart like that 🙂 she was FIERCELY competitive and in her younger pre-Christ days had been known to destroy a deck of cards or two in a wee bit of a fit of rage.

I can’t remember the last time me and Ruby had laughed so much as that final game.

Dad was doing some sort of weird “La-la-la’ tune and me and Ruby are just looking at each other and Mom tells him that he “Sounds just like Nellie Olsen” (the mean little girl character from “Little House on the Prairie”) and how on earth things can go to flat zero that fast is still dumbfounding, but I truly believe it was pure (no matter how painful for us) mercy from God.

She later confessed to my sister and I that she had not felt well for a while and August 16th she finally went to the ER at 5:30 a.m. because she had been so nauseated she was unable to eat and nothing was helping her, so they do tests and tell her that her sodium is low and she comes back home for another week, still unable to eat, drink, or sleep without stomach pain.

So we talk her into going to another ER and they admitted her and did more tests, very painful for her because he had severe osteoarthritis and they actually had to give her morphine to endure one test that lasted an hour and a half, finally they conclude that she had an enlarged gall bladder and gall stones, and an ulcer BUT the chest x-ray picked up a mass in her left lung.

All this led to an endoscopy and a biopsy of her small intestine and a lymph node around her right clavicle and the doctor making quite sure that she felt it may be esophageal cancer and that the biopsy would only be about an inch and that the gallbladder would stay because it was a side issue.

So August 31st she was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma, which is what killed my brother, it is rare and  especially insidious because it so aggressive and carries about a three MONTH survival time.

To say we were just blown away would be an understatement, but she had met with another doctor and decided that she would try chemo because it could possibly help her appetite and relieve pain, but the cancer was in her lymph nodes and her stomach and spreads rapidly so there wasn’t much that could be done.

So we converge trying to get her to drink the Ensures and Gatorade we’d been trying to get to drink for a week, she was growing so weak and could only sleep an hour or two at a time and would have to get back into her recliner because of the pain from not only the cancer but the osteoarthritis that had been so aggravated by having to lie flat and the three days spent in the hospital.

But the BIGGER problem was the badly botched biopsy that was NOT the promised one incision but instead a four-inch mess held together by the medical “superglue” covered in a CLEAR bandage for all the horror to show through, the moment I saw that THING, I knew it was mess.

In the meantime she had been prescribed two antibiotics to be taken together to help her stomach and help her eat, along with the truckload of other medications that did not for her.

My great-niece is an RN and she came and spent the night with Mom and gave us some great tips and she had thought that the incision didn’t look quite right either and within two days her skin around it was red, and red into her chest and her breast was twice its size and I can only imagine what it would have been had she not been on the antibiotics, we begged her to go to the ER but she was so weak that we’d been helping her to the bathroom for a week and she didn’t want to go in an ambulance, so thank God for a church friend who is a nurse practitioner and after being sent pictures of it advised her to go, so she finally went and it took my nephew and husband both just to get her to the vehicle.

The sad thing is this had just been “checked” by a doctor who said it was fine the day BEFORE she was admitted back into the hospital.

This thing was infected and the swelling had set in and soon both arms become red, skin peeling and finally swollen triple their size leading to the removal of paper tape actually ripping her skin off with it and fluid leaking from a huge sore and finally leaking from everywhere and I know that it was excruciating.

They had her on bag antibiotic and a super strong fish smelling injection antibiotic, a sodium pill, ulcer medication and morphine, dilauda, marinol, AND percocet every four hours, of course she was still not drinking or eating and with the low sodium and fluid overload they could not even give her IV fluids. And blood work upon blood work and her arms were covered in bruises over the scorching red and finally her last night there my sister and daughter and I all three stayed and told them, no more, they were not sticking her ever again.

God blessed us with awesome compassionate nurses and a wonderful hospital doctor who overruled the surgeon who had performed the biopsy, she wanted to do a “procedure” to try to drain the fluid that “may or not work” and he told her “Absolutely not, she had suffered enough and was going home” a week after being only further tormented.

So Tuesday my mom is brought back home in an ambulance, strapped on a gurney.

Pale, swollen, lifeless, with air-tubes covering her beautiful face still wearing the awful hospital gown that they had put her in a week before, which killed me, because she ALWAYS wanted to be dressed, neat and “presentable”, they get her into the bed Hospice had sent.

And the next day, September 19, less than twenty-four hours later and BEFORE Hospice could even have their first visit to rid her of that awful gown, with my sister trying desperately to help her because she was struggling to breathe, she passed away.

The most beautiful person in our world gone, just gone.

One of a kind, so gentle, so kind, would rescue anyone or any animal, give the shirt off her back or her last piece of bread to anyone who needed it and yet would rip someone to shreds over one of her kids or grand kids.

A woman who loved “Little House” and “The Walton’s”, and Hallmark Christmas movies but yet could not quite resist a good wrestling match, the tag team Rock and Roll Express, Robert Gibson and Ricky Morton from the eighties being her all time favorites.

A woman whose love and grace and impeccable manners had reared generations.

A woman whose strength, courage, and endless hope and faith in God had seen her through tragedies upon tragedies and more hardships and pain than one should endure.

The death of her firstborn son “POLICE STATE” left her with questions that would only be answered in eternity and as she told me the saving grace that kept her sane was the fact that she knew “her other kids needed her”.

The horrifying ordeal of watching her last born son die from the disease that would also take her, his story is “GOOD BYE, ROXIE SMITH” 

Her wonderful stories of growing up in rural Kentucky in the early forties, complete with tales of the terror during the war with Japan when she and her sister would “run and hide in bed” every time they heard a plane overhead.

Stories of being a young woman and new mother in the fifties and living out ALL the generations she had since with the passing of time clanging all things.

Grace and wisdom that had her hailed as the family sage for me, my daughter Bethany and her granddaughter Brittany.

We always looked at her as one who has answers to impossible questions, she was the inspiration for MOTHERS, THE BEJEWELMENT TO THE CROWN OF THE KING 

She had a beautiful laugh and fabulous sense of humor, she shared in our tears, our triumphs, our fears and always let EVERYONE know how precious and loved they were.

She was the consummate holiday host, I always awoke on Thanksgiving morning to the sound of Macy’s parade and the smell of turkey baking and Christmas was an event with decorations galore, made even more fun several years with a quite silly entertaining game of mystery present exchange.

And such generosity that few ever left empty-handed after a visit with her.

And as my sister said, such beautiful hands.

Hands that were always kept with beautifully polished nails.

Hands that had known so much love and hard work, taking care of all of us, ironing school clothes for six children in the days before wrinkle free and blue jeans, because her kids looking clean and pressed were high on her list.

Hands that worked so hard as a seamstress in a backbreaking factory to put food on the table and my memories being filled with those wonderful mornings of waking up for school to the sound of a local country music station and the smell of Adorn hairspray filling the air, even for work she wore make-up, did her hair and WAS the consummate lady in ANY environment.

That same love for music making her a fan of so many genres from classical, easy listening, disco, and even the trucker music of the seventies and no one quite like Neil Diamond or Lou Rawls in her opinion.

She would often hum and sing along, but her favorite was Christmas, with Christmas tapes and CD’s everywhere.

So much more I could say about my mother, my friend, my inspiration, so much I could say about the holes in all of our hearts, but I want to say a few other things instead.

God makes beauty IN the misery.

The loss of my brothers left my mother for a desperate need for her surviving children to bond and love each other forever. And last Saturday, my brothers spent the day with her at the hospital, NO chicks, NO sisters, JUST her and them, my cousin had taken her a bear, whom she named “Mr. Fuzzy Britches” and as I was told she had a great time with them and actually ate a little for them, but I KNOW  just how much this “alone” time, just her and her boys, meant to her.

And another first came when we were privileged to gather around her bed the day she came home, as the Lord had put in my heart, ONLY her children, hands held proclaiming His word, that “Her children shall rise up and call her blessed” and I KNOW she heard us and I know what it meant, it meant her desire that we pray together (as she had prayed for all of us EVERY single night) had been fulfilled.

And the most amazing remarkable moment came AFTER she had passed, while her body was still with us, we were all there waiting and some were outside and my sister-in-law saw something on my brother’s face and it was a RAINBOW, seriously, and he told the other to look up and this rainbow was huge and we had been so blessed with help and comfort, the Hospice ladies, Tabitha and Barbra were really more equivalent to angels and our pastor and his wife were also with us and as we all stared in absolute awe, he said, “No one would have believed it if they had not seen it”, and as one pointed out, we hadn’t had a drop of rain, the sun was out on the other side.

Birds even  flew across this and it was breathtaking, the picture is an ACTUAL picture taken with a cell phone but to see it person was magnificent.

Mom's rainbow 2

 

 

Even in the hurt the pain the inability to understand, Jesus always, always proves faithful.

Her beautiful day had come, she had been raised by a God-fearing woman who kept them in Sunday school and tent revivals and Mom accepted Jesus for herself in September 2000.

And in that acceptance she fell helplessly in love with Him, I am serious, the woman literally GLOWED, she was so in love with Him.

So knowing her love and dedication to Him is my ONLY comfort.

My mother was of course one of those women who smelled heavenly and her all time favorite perfume from vintage days was “Evening in Paris” and just the name sounds so beautiful and reminiscent of her beauty, I chose it for my title

Because I have peace that the beautiful, complicated lady He blessed me with as a mother is not only having an ultimate evening in Paris, she is having the most glorious of all dances with the King.

And THAT dance WILL NEVER end, that beautiful fragrance of His heavenly garments has no comparison in heaven or on this earth and she IS in the most beautiful, gentle hands that will forever hold her.

She will never again struggle, hurt, or face the heartache of losing another of her children.

And as much as I want to cry, scream, rock myself into some sort of comatose state and rip the beating heart from my own chest so I don’t have to feel this pain, I KNOW she is so happy and I KNOW she has the beautiful eternal life she deserves.

So to the most beautiful of the beautiful, have a wonderful evening with your King and dance forever because your beauty still shines, even brighter than all the stars He created, they could never outshine the light you left us. I love you Miss Helen, forever.

“Change your clothes”

Sunday will be the first day of spring! Yay! But here it was actually warmer weeks ago and many of the beautiful trees flowered early and now old man winter is huffing and puffing and rain and wind are blowing and all those pretty blooms are looking anything but pretty.

Funny how the perception of a trees beauty is gauged by the covering of that tree, not what it looked like before or what it will in several months, but what it is NOW.

We aren’t that much different and I can never think of “changing” clothes without thinking about my Mother… most Mothers insist on clean underwear and socks but that never comes to mind with my Mom.

Growing up in the eighties.. fashion was seriously whatever you wanted it to be and styles ranged widely from elegant jumpsuits that were multipurpose to be worn many ways and as I called them “clown suits” I loved them. Others wore leather and styles that bordered medieval archery wear, and styles with satin, gauze, and loads of lace, fad after fad with every imaginable fabric stuffed in between.

I went through a phase (before I was liberated to clown suits and my beloved shoulder pads) that rotated between raiding my Dad’s church ties to polish off my look, and raiding my brothers printed tee shirts.

Now my parents both worked so me and my brother got ourselves off to school and I would ride the bus to school and then ride home with Mom because she worked close to the school and got off about thirty minutes later, so anyway she did not see me BEFORE I left the house only AFTER everyone else had, she has always been a big believer in looking ones best so I really should have seen it coming sooner… we were getting out of the car to go into the store one evening and  staring rather sternly at the extra-large tee-shirt and jeans I had donned, she says “Why are you wearing that?” Of course my shocked reply was “Because its comfortable” so she finally strongly suggests that if I don’t start wearing my own clothes and stop wearing my brothers shirts that I would not be in public with her.

So looking back I don’t know if this was a “sister moment” or a Mom asking a sister “Can you do something with your sister” moment but my sister who has always been beautiful and well dressed decided to give me a beautiful outfit, still miss that shirt!

Anyway it was black DRESS SLACKS and a black “almost” tee but the upper portion was almost like a velvety suede with an applique, also solid black.  As soon as I tried it on, I fell in love, and wore it to school and the most shocking thing happened that day… I could not believe how many compliments I got on those clothes and I actually FELT different, I felt FEMININE, I felt like a GIRL…WEIRD Right!???

I can truly say that I have never been the same, still have my sloppy moments  but I was given something that is priceless, a “change of clothes” that helped change me from a “tomboy” wearing make-up into becoming a young lady.

Something hit me at church Sunday night…  and God confirmed the thought when the story of the lady with the issue of blood was used, in a different context.

Sometimes we have to CHANGE our “garments” to touch His. Yeah.. that is much harder to explain outside of my head, but understanding it in my spirit.

What we wear SPIRITUALLY is of course even more important than what we cover our bodies with.

We wear our happiness as a beautiful sundress, we wear our joy as a brightly colored array reflecting from our very beings.

We wear peace as a blue flowing robe that reflects the sky and the sea and their endless blueness and beauty.

And we wear so many WRONG things and like my double shoulder pads and cinch belts of yesteryear, God above knows that I have worn more than my fair share of many of these:

We wear our pain, our sad countenance and eyes expressing the sorrow of our heart just as deadening and dreary as a funeral veil.

We wear our hurt and resentment as easily irritating, rough garments that scratch and chaff and make us quite nasty to be around.

We wear our guilt and our shame as a hideous smocks decorated with skulls and cross-bones and bio hazard symbols to ward others away as they carefully hide the most delicate of silk and linen underneath.

We also wear the unattractive and ill-fitting garments of anger, rage, pride, and arrogance, regret and remorse and every imaginable human condition.

Luke, chapter 8 tells us of a woman who knew all to well about the garments she was forced to wear, she was sick, very sick. Her condition made her life exceptionally miserable because she was under the law to stay on her sick-bed, she had an issue of blood, and that made her UNCLEAN and by that NO ONE could come into contact with her or they would also become unclean, so she spent ALL of her money on doctor, after doctor, and I’m sure remedy after remedy and her condition only WORSENED.

So for TWELVE YEARS she spent her life, alone, sick, and outcast in her  condition. Now THAT is carrying a heavy burden, we’ll pick up her story: Luke 8:43-48: “And a woman having an issue of blood twelve years, which had spent all her living upon physicians, NEITHER could be healed of any. Came BEHIND him and TOUCHED the border (hem) of HIS GARMENT: and IMMEDIATELY her issue of blood stanched (stopped).

And Jesus said, Who touched me? When all denied, Peter and they that were with him said, Master, the multitude throng thee and press (surround and crush) thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me? And Jesus said, Somebody hath touched me; For I perceive that VIRTUE (POWER) IS GONE OUT OF ME.

And when the woman saw that she was not hid, she came trembling, and falling down before him, she declared unto him before all people for what cause she had touched him, and how SHE WAS HEALED IMMEDIATELY. And Jesus said unto her, Daughter, be of good comfort (cheer) thy faith hath made thee whole (well) GO IN PEACE.

Mark 5:25-34  recounts her famous words, “If I MAY touch but (ONLY) his clothes, I SHALL BE WHOLE (well).”

Can you imagine the “clothes” she had worn every day for TWELVE years and the courage it took to “change” clothes in order to TOUCH His?

She had to change her garment of FEAR, the very real fear of being punished for breaking the law by even being there and put on a new covering of FAITH.

She had to change her garments of rejection, and ostracism for the beautiful two piece suit of acceptance and assurance. Removing the tight uncomfortable binder of medically impossible and allowing herself to be completed wrapped in  ALL things ARE possible with God.

And to NOT even be touched BY Him, or touch Him, but just to touch something that is touching Him, so matter how small it may seem, even the little things in life, right down to the to the tiniest seam, after all, that little seam holds it all together. (Dig that, for a little symbolism) We all pray and we all want Him to touch us, our health, our lives and there IS nothing wrong with that but.. maybe sometimes we need to just TOUCH Him.

Hebrews 4:15 a: “For we have not an high priest which cannot BE TOUCHED WITH THE FEELING OF OUR INFIRMITIES.. ” OUR High Priest CAN be touched!

And when those heavy burdens, sickness, and toils and toll takings of life happen, and that SPIRIT of heaviness start to show on us like tattered, torn clothing we MUST be willing to change OUT OF THAT.

Isaiah 61:3: “To appoint unto (console) them that mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for their ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, THE GARMENT OF PRAISE FOR THE SPIRIT OF HEAVINESS; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord.”

So shed the old crusty duds and  put on your new clothes and allow Him to cover you in a beautiful garment of praise!

Now to finish up my story, life is good in slacks, Dad finally quit having to come ask for his missing ties and looking back my brother bought me an “ALABAMA” tee-shirt all of my own,  ( I will post that in as soon as I dig the picture up.. good for a flashback laugh) now I’m thinking maybe a gentle way of saying, “Sis, please stay out of my clothes….. wear your own clothes”…  But I know one thing for sure the most beautiful garment we will ever wear is “broken” that is the garment that shines brilliantly and flows most beautifully, because it is most splendid and glorious once it has undergone repair.

Blessings and Love! Have a great week and a beautiful new spring!

Φλογίζω Σαλπιζω  NBJ 2017

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MOTHERS, THE BEJEWELMENT TO THE CROWN OF THE KING

**** FROM MY ARCHIVES, this post is around four years old, but the love and sentiment that we all feel for this special day never changes, neither did this thought.***

Mothers, we are formed in their bodies, they feed us, diaper us, love us and nurture us. They dry our tears and relieve all our fears. They chase the boogey men away. Spend sleepless nights by our bedside when we are sick.  

Their love and patience pours over us as we spend hours crying through all the heartaches of puppy love and the growing pains that only a Mother’s comfort can see us through.
My own mother always had an awesome ability that allowed her even in the worst possible circumstance to see so beyond the crisis at hand and see a better time in the future.
And I have truly been through a thing or two, including having to file for a restraining order at the ripe old age of eighteen and my mother always reassured me of several things.
#1. Things always look brighter after a good night sleep. We often worry about bad things that never actually happen.
#2. No matter how bad that day may seem, one day we really do look back and whatever it was that almost broke us will seem like a nightmare that never really even happened.
#3. An old, old one which is true and will always be true, whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.
You know she was right on all counts and she still is!
I always thought if I could even be half the woman she is I would do well. She is beautiful inside and out and has such a dignity and grace about her that is almost regal and loves Jesus more than life itself.
Mothers are like beautiful jewels, they come in a variety of colors, shapes and sizes. Each one exquisitely crafted by the Master’s hand.
Maybe your birth mother or maybe the mother God chose just for you by joining you together through adoption. 

Maybe He chose your Grandmother or Aunt as the defining maternal hand to guide you, love you, teach you, and above all nurture you in Him.
Nevertheless we all know there is no one, no one like our Mother.
The relationship between Mary and Jesus is such a beautiful example of this one of a kind bond.
We know the story, Mary the blessed virgin, to whom an angel came to proclaim that she would give birth to the Son of the Almighty God, who had in fact created her.
Without a doubt she was scared to death, how do you conceive without a mate? An answer which came when she was overshadowed by the Holy Ghost.
How do you knowingly carry the Son of God inside your body?
How do you tell your future husband and your family that this is true and it really happened to you?
How do you travel ninety miles on a donkey and give birth in a stable surrounded by his beautiful animal creations knowing this child is the one to save all of creation?
How do you accept the gifts of frankincense, gold, and myrrh brought from far away lands by wise men on bended knee who
have been led there by a star to pay honor and tribute to the King of all Kings?
How do react when the shepherds come to worship him, relaying that the message of  his arrival had been proclaimed to them by the host of heaven who proceeded to sing praises to the glory of God in the Highest as heaven came down and kissed earth?
How do you give the offering of the poorest of poor when dedicating him, never, ever worrying about providing for him?
How do you hear a prophecy from one who had been promised he would not see death until he beheld the face of this promised child, when that prophecy is that “a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also”?
As this child grows and maternal instincts take over, as he is held, loved, learns to crawl, walk and says his first words, has his first bumps and bruises and one day decides to stay behind and talk with the elders rather than join the caravan his family travelled with.
How do you understand, when you ask why he did this and he asks you “Did you not know I must be about my Father’s business?”, I will tell you how, he was her baby, even though he was divine, she knew he was God’s son but she was human and she was his mother and like all of us, that was her baby and as she watched him grow, he became what he was. Her son whom she loved more than life itself.
Fast forward twenty-one years after pondering what did he mean by this, as he begins his ministry and watching his miracles (she had to know he held this power because she asked him to do something for her friends at the wedding when he turned the water into wine, which was his first public display of this power) she watched as her own people hated him and threatened his life, she watched as his ministry grew.
She knew of his arrest and public torture and finally seeing him bloody, beaten beyond recognition and carrying a wooden beam to his execution, his battered body falling under the weight of it. And unable to go to him, to hold him, to touch his face, to tell him everything would be okay and this was still her baby and there was nothing in the universe she could do to stop it because it was the piercing of her soul. There would be no words to describe her sorrow.
How could her beautiful son who hung nailed to a cross, nearing death look down and want to be sure his mother would be cared for before dying, because he was her firstborn son.
John 19:25-27 “Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.
When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, (John) he saith unto his mother Woman, behold thy son!
Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.” 
They seriously wrote the book, the ultimate story of love between a mother and child,and a wonderful example to us about the love and respect we should have for own mothers.
I hope all have a blessed Mother’s Day and if you have lost your Mother, rejoice in knowing just as Jesus and Mary we reunited and are together forever and ever, you will be also. And if  you know a lady who maybe has lost her children or they are “too busy” for her, please, please consider “adopting” her for Mother’s Day. A card, flowers or just a visit can change her world. Because loneliness is one “disease” we can cure! Remember Jesus said if you do it for one of his little one’s (saints) you’ve done it for him!
Because He is the King and these ladies are precious, precious jewels that help make up his Majestic crown! They are precious to him!
Φλογίζω 2014