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This is the music of the dance

In memory of the children dead

For the the children ahead

They are the children of the dance

They are the wounded children

Healed and alive

May they dance in freedom

Without shame

Without pain

The children of the dance

Their story is not a misery story

Their story is my story

It is a voice raised

It is a voice for change

The Damaged Child

He woke her up this morning

As she was sleeping there

He saw a damaged child

That no one could repair

Without His healing touch

She would not see the sun

Or hear the singing of the birds

Too much had gone wrong

He gave her ears that she could hear

The singing of the dove

He filled her soul with music

Her heart He filled with love

He took her in her arms

As she was sleeping there

He knew her wounded heart

Would never be repaired

Until she heard His voice that day

While she was walking on the way.

Poems from Outside the Gate /j.smith


Let the little girl dance,

Let the little girl dance

She wants to give it a try

Standing by herself

Now she got the nerve to take a chance

So let the little girl dance

Let the little girl through

She's been a little wallflower on the shelf

Let the little girl through

She wants to dance with you /Billy Bland


The Mini- Miss Orphan Contest

"It was an important day. there was a lineup of girls waiting to be introduced to perspective foster parents. Little girls dressed in their 'Sunday best' waiting in line. This was a Miss Orphan contest.

Miss Julie had shampooed and fussed over my fine curly hair. I was seven years old.

Twelve girls all wiggled and squirmed in the line up. Only one of us would be chosen.

We watched in wide- eyed wonder as a beautiful lady and a handsome man walked down the line.

The lady looked like Snow White with red lipstick and the man looked like the Handsome Prince.

All of us girls looked with longing. "Would they take me?" I wondered?

/excerpt from Outside the Gate.


"So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves.

Instead, you received God's Spirit when he adopted you as his own children

Now you call him, "Abba Father."

For his Spirit joins with our spirit to affirm we are God's children.

And since we are his children we are his heirs.

In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God's glory.

But if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering."

(Romans 8:15)


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