Streets stood still

Saw a beautiful sunset tonight,
for a moment there was peace,
there was no shadow
for war to hide behind,
the streets stood still.
The fighting became silent and for a moment people saw each other
and craved humanity and laid anger down at the feet of hope.
Laid their voices down at the feet of understanding.

My hometown

I remember it well, standing in the church listening to Jesse Jackson speak about unity and the kkk.
We sat and prepared ourselves to take a stand against the klan, you could hear them outside, waiting for us to come out and walk to the town hall.
After being told how to handle everything the doors to the church opened and we made our way down the steps.
The klan was there, microphone and speaker standing unified, yelling things I won’t repeat on this post.
We walked by them, never spoke, never blinked, never uttered a word. We made our way to the town hall to peaceful stand.
I vividly remember growing up with the klan ever present in my town. I lived very close to the down town area and would run down the street to the record store but would always slow down nearing the corner, the klan would be there standing and handing out pamphlets trying to get ppl to join.
I remember how they made me feel, scared. Always being instructed by my parents and grandmother to never take anything from them. I would say no but they would insist, I would get far enough away and fling it.
I remember holding my grandmothers hand walking to jimmy’s near the railroad station, the klan was there and she told me, “don’t flinch, don’t look at them and don’t entertain demons. Just walk right through them.”
My grandmother would be proud of the progress made in this town.
The klan was a fixture here, I would watch them drive those big black Cadillacs into the cemetery for what I don’t know.
I remember how they would gather in groups up town and downtown, I remember the skin heads being around.
I remember Jesse Jackson coming back to help us again, I remember the heightened emotions this time, the words of disgust being spoken to them, one persons even pulled the hood off of a klan memeber.
I remember Matthew Hale coming and speaking.
I remember all of this well. I know the reputation of this town, I know what people say but I would hope people would take into account the battle that went on to break away from them, push them out of this town.
People may tell you that there hasn’t been much of this in the past but there has been and I tell you that to also say that we have truly come far.
People may tell you that there is still open kkk meetings but in all honesty I haven’t seen or heard of any.
People have spoken about burning Wallingford down, I would hope people would take a moment to understand the fight that went on to push the klan out, to bring in more diversity, to stand against racism, and to progress as a town. Is there still racism in this town, yes.
I remember the growing up with the klan in this town and I remember the battle that went on to push them out and silence their open meetings.
There are some good people here that have fought agansit the klan and helped Wallingford to progress.
Many have stood against the klan in this town, there was no hashtags, or live feeds just people standing for the rights of others to live without fear.

The province of weakness

     Before strength can ever exist within, the utterances of weakness must be embraced. 

     Allow weakness to have it’s perfect work in you and frailty will become strength. 

     People have asked me, “where does your strength come from?” The best answer I can give is this, ” I’ve learned to embrace weakness and heed it’s teaching. Strong needs a place to create itself , and it’s  birth is rooted in frailty.”  

     Weakness dosent just go away. You can’t eradicate it. Weakness is there for a reason and it’s purpose is to teach you  how to be well founded. It’s desire is to birth within you unwavering strength, planted as a seed in frailty that you be well made. 

     Weakness is a mere mirror upon the soul reflecting a growth that needs to occur. 

     Just as the hand needs to be rooted to the arm to function, so strength needs frailty. 

     The journey to recreate my life began with a fall, exposing my weaknesses. I’ve learned to embrace the teachings of weakness, for without them growth would have been impossible.  

A personal glimpse

       The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.-Terry Prachett.

      The final draft is my story being told to others, felt and heard through language carefully chosen.-Beth 

      This journey began almost a year and half ago. I had no idea where any of this would lead. This unfolded before me and for those that have been following me on Instagram and Facebook. 

      I was recently asked to right a feature story for mountain moxie. Humbled by their interest I began to write my story. I’m thankful to say it was just published a few hours ago. It’s finally available to read at, mountainmoxie.com and it’s called, starting over. Feeling grateful and relived..for those that decide to read it, I hope you enjoy it and it offers you encouragement and inspiration. I’m currently working on another story for Alpen climb.. 

 

A story behind the climb 

     Character cannot be developed in ease and quite. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.. -Helen Keller 

      It all seems so flawless, every move unwavering and without hesitation.

      There’s a story behind every climber and what appears to be an effortless send. Nothin begins completed and the send dosent just happen.

      September 15th, 7:30 am. I gather my gear together and head for the Catholes. Although it feels longer I’ve been working this route for 2 and 1/2 weeks. The beginning of this route has proven to be challenging, the size of the holds slightly beyond the strength of my fingers. 

I set myself for the first move to the route. With my left hand I reach for the second hold, push off with my right foot to have the rock crumble beneath my foot causing my right hand to slip, I’m left hanging by my left hand. I struggle to reposition my right hand as my foot sets itself on a more stable area of rock.

I haven’t completed this route but it will be worked continuously until it’s sent(completed). 

      In the beginning I would spend hours watching climbers complete routes without flaw. Each move like words to a poem carefully chosen and placed. 

      I’ve spent countless hours on the same rock battling fears, fustrations and the fight to control a wandering mind.

      The rock will leave it’s own reminder of why most quit. The success of a route isn’t just handed to any climber. Success is earned through torn skin,  aching fingers, bruises, blood and the battle to push beyond your own limitations. The flawless moves are earned through countless hours, staying when everyone leaves and understanding success forms itself through great struggle..