Rebekah Honeycutt

Light and Love be with you!

My Mother’s Poem

My amazing mother has always gifted me with poems growing up.

My Mother :)

My Mother 🙂

She says she just can’t help herself. She will lay down and attempt to join the land of slumber, and her brain will continue to work on a poem until she writes it down.

She wrote a beautiful poem about me as an infant, which I have only memorized the first part of. I need to find the complete work.

This is the first part, which will lead you into the poem I received two days ago…

Rebekah is my baby,

I love her very much.

She is so small and pretty,

I can’t resist the urge to touch.

Now, the poem from two days ago:

Rebekah is still my baby
Though she is almost twenty-nine
She’s an international author
And really doing fine

She published Sapphire Eyes
At the beginning of this year
Golden tears is on it’s way
Of that I have no fear

Next she will work on Silver Scars
And then on Jade Tattoos
Between her work, and school, and home
She has no time to lose

She always studies hard
And works and plays hard too
If you want to buy her book
She will sign one just for you

Rita Rhoden

My mother has been there for me from the beginning: disciplining me, loving me, supporting me, and molding me into the woman I am now. I can’t thank her enough for taking time out of her day to just say I love you, let alone taking on the full time role as single-parent. In my opinion, she did an excellent job (which I may be bias about…).

Thank you Mommy! You are my rock and shining star!

Mom and Me

Mom and Me

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My Amazing Grandfather

Growing up, my grandfather was my world. He was the one I ran to when I needed to cry, he was the one I stood beside when I needed to be strong.

Grandpa

As a young girl I didn’t see my father much, even though he lived three houses down from me. I didn’t understand this as a child, but I did visit him when I could. My dad would take me places with him occasionally, and one of those times we went to a place with karaoke. I got a copy of the songs we sang.

I remember one night I laid down beside my grandfather’s radio, and continued to listen to my father sing karaoke by tape. Tears were streaming down my face, but I was trying to conceal the sobs. I wondered, like most children, if it was something I had done wrong that made my parents’ divorce. Somehow I thought listening to this tape of my father would provide me with insight into the why questions.

I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my cries until my grandfather walked up behind me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Bekah Jo, I think it’s time you get in the bed.” I turned off the radio and followed my grandpa into his and grandma’s room. He scooted closer to Grandma and wrapped his huge, hairy arm around me tightly. (I would usually sneak into their bed as a kid)

Once his arm was around me it felt like no one could hurt me, and the pain in my heart faded for a time.

As kids, my cousins and I would go “dumpster diving” as we called it. It was a family outing, and it became a game for us. We would jump into a dumpster and search for aluminum cans. We had a blast getting dirty. At the end of our adventure, Grandpa would take us to the “canning place” (as we called it). We would watch our cans get crushed and he would split the money between us evenly.

I know it sounds gross now, but at that time, it was the best part of our week. We made money, and we had fun. That’s all that mattered to us. I realize now he never took any of the money because he was teaching us something about life.

My grandfather was the deacon of our church, and he ensured we knew our bibles well. The Christian competitions I have written about in another post were one of the ways he ensured our knowledge. My cousins and I competed every year without fail. We memorized verses, whole chapters, where words were located, and we were quizzed constantly.

We were at the church more than we were at home, I felt. We would clean the church, practice on the stage; bring food to the pantry for people who needed assistance; along with many other things. He wanted us to grow up knowing how to work for what we wanted, and understanding that you always provide what you can to others.

The night he died, I had been studying with three friends for our next competition (Tic-Tac-Toe). One of the girls and I had walked down to my grandfathers. I went to the front door, knocked and we ran around to the back door. He opened the front door and looked around, and then I knocked on the back. This continued for a short while. He finally left both doors open and said, “Bekah Jo, come in if you’re comin in.”  We came inside and he told us to grab us something to drink. We talked for a short bit before heading back to my house.

A few hours later my house phone rang. It was my grandmother frantic to speak with my mother. I knew in my heart that my grandfather was gone; no one needed to tell me. I handed the phone to my mother, and off she went to their house.

After that, I chose a star in the sky to be my grandfather so I could continue to talk to him. I would lay on the roof of my mother’s van and chat with him every chance I got. I had to keep him updated on what was going on in my life. I hadn’t cried over my loss of him in this world until a few months later. I finally broke when I saw his photo in my living room one night, and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

I loved him more than any man in the world. He was always there for me, and provided me with everything I could ask for- love and understanding most of all. I have called him the greatest man I have ever known, and that title maintains true.

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Education and Empowerment

“Knowledge is Power”

Francis Bacon

If you haven’t been able to tell, I am a stickler for education. Even my car says so… it’s a rolling billboard for the colleges I have attended.

My courses this semester will be ending tonight, and I have a feeling of pure sadness that washes over me every time I remember. The people whom I have met this semester are wonderful, intelligent, and beautiful people. I don’t want to lose their unique personalities and their encouragement from my nights in class. They have created their own personal mark on my heart, and will forever be in my life.

My personal education thoughts:

I have been told I am a difficult student to teach. I tend to ask questions that people don’t want to answer, or don’t have an answer for. An answer I have received, for example, “It’s beyond your pay grade, so you don’t need to know it.” That answer irritates me. Why would I ask a question I didn’t want to know the answer to?

I usually take on a mother hen approach toward the other students in my classes. I advocate for their needs as well as my own. I ensure that the students who are trying their best have an adequate understanding of the material before them. I create study sessions to assist them, I text them random questions to get their mind reeling, and I place them in situations where it can be easily understood. I don’t want to leave someone behind when they demonstrate true yearning for knowledge.

Knowledge is everything to me, without it, we are lifeless organisms. Our destinies or choices will not be obtained, and our minds become null and void. Each person is different from the next in the way they understand and cling to certain types of information. Each person follows their own path to become the person they choose to be. IE: Without a mechanic, my car would be broken. I have skills that others do not, and they have skills that I do not. Actually… come to think of it, Mother Teresa said something just like that, and I quote, “I can do things you cannot, you can do things I cannot; together we can do great things.”

I want to become an educator in the near future. I have a yearning and a passion to teach others. I love the way a person lights up when they finally comprehend something they have been attempting to master. The intensity of that situation is amazing to watch and feel. I enjoy being a stepping stone on their way to greatness.

My goals for the future:

  • I will do my best to educate my son on the ways of life, the opportunities available, and enhance the skills within him.
  • I will instruct American Sign Language courses. It’s a passion that I found in fourth grade when I first learned the manual alphabet and heard the story of Helen Keller. I was instantly obsessed. Of course, back then, it wasn’t as easy to obtain information to further my understanding.
  • I will continue to write. I will publish books that mean something to me. I will blog on my thoughts and I will encourage others. My mother always called me her little cheerleader, and I love that title.
  • I will educate others on subjects that I am familiar with, and lead them toward a way to obtain the information I am not.
  • I will love every person I meet for who they are and who they want to become. I will support them in their journeys by either walking beside them, or standing in the background smiling and clapping obnoxiously.
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A Single Mom’s Christmas

For a single mother Christmas season can be a dreaded experience; I know this to be fact. I have heard of women being fearful to leave their emotionally or physically abusive relationships due to trying to provide a positive Christmas for their children.

I want to take you through my Christmas two seasons ago, to share with you the struggles that I had incurred.

Christmas 2010 was my first Christmas without my son. I had broken my right clavicle the month before, and we were snowed in at the house. “We” consisted of my sister, her boyfriend and I. My son’s birthday is The 23rd of December, and I missed celebrating that day with him also. We had been snowed in for a total of five days by the time I was able to have a friend drive me to pick him up from his father. Of course, his father and I didn’t want to risk the safety issues of the drive between us with our son in the car during that point either.

I was a wreck, no other way to describe it. I became very depressed during those five days, feeling as though my world was crashing down on my shoulders. I remember sitting in the fetal position in the laundry room, tears falling uncontrollably. Not only was I not able to drive very well with the healing clavicle, but I was out of work for a total of three months and had been waiting to receive the money from my insurance company.

As some of you know, I am a very prideful, independent woman. I can’t stand even the thought of asking another person for assistance. Just writing those words brings tears to my eyes at this moment. It’s something I struggle with constantly. I was overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy, thoughts that I had somehow failed as a mother.

Now, with not having much finances coming in, I was unable to afford oil to heat the house. Luckily, my mother and uncle had purchased an Amish fireplace for me and the kids. I was beyond grateful. The electric heaters were kicking my bills up into the 300 range each month. I do have a stove heater in the basement of the house, but my house is large, and it doesn’t heat the upstairs areas well.

My sister and I decided we would wait to open the few gifts that I had been able to afford them, until my son came home. When he arrived he told of the wonderful gifts that he had received from his father’s side of the family. I was so happy his father and his fiancé were able to afford more than I could. I had only been able to get him two presents for his birthday, and two more for his Christmas. My sister also had two.

As they opened their gifts their smiles never faltered, but I wanted to give them more. Tears streamed down my face as after they opened each one, they ran to me and hugged me tightly thanking me. All I could say to my sister was, “I’m sorry, you deserve more.” I will never forget her facial expression at that moment. She looked at me with tear filled eyes and disbelief covered her face. She held me tightly and whispered, “No, you deserve more than we could give you.”

I didn’t think so. I hadn’t provided them with what society has lead us to believe Christmas is about, Gifts. Even though they didn’t have much, they had me to support and love them with unwavering affection. We had a blast cooking, singing, dancing, and playing with the items they had received. We also made an igloo in the front yard. (Brr, It was cold) They had written me home-made letters which I will forever cherish. Our Christmas celebration (not on Christmas) was a positive one over all.

I want to say that I know that Christmas is not about gifts. I know the true meaning behind Christmas. After saying that, it still makes it difficult in a parents mind to not “go all out” for your children.

So, in response to the women and men who are out there struggling with the decision of: To leave or not leave. Do what is in the best interest for you and your children emotionally. Your children are able to feel your emotions even when you attempt to hide them. Being in an unhappy relationship can strain the relationship with your children. Your child/ren wants you to be happy too. Keep your chin up through the hard times, because they can be rough. Keep your eyes focused on the rainbow at the end of the downpour.

Would you rather your parents show you unconditional love, or give you meaningless gifts?

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