Like Fireworks on Independence Day

Not my usual post, but one of my poems I've resurrected for Independence Day...

It was my job. Clean

the church. 

Dust, sweep, vacuum.

Mother.

I brought my trio along,

Baby Emma in the stroller. The other two

were old enough to help

straighten Bibles, hymn books, kneelers.

That church sang to my spirit,

its history seeped into my soul.

Colonists sought freedom.

So did I.  Freedom from

venomous condemnation

and alcohol-laced abuse.

Sunlight streamed, spilling

hope unto wooden pews and lighting

the aisle with splashes of color

reflecting from stained glass windows.

The church bells rang out

carols, the message of the birth

of a Savior, Who came to bring

freedom.

The church bells rang out

clear, a message

to me.

And sunlight

lit my path like fireworks on

Independence Day.

So I took a

leap of faith

and left my accuser, and

took on

a new role. Single

Mother.

And I cleaned and

dusted and swept

and vacuumed.