A Remembrance of Life

A Remembrance of  A Life 

Her cry echoes still:  

"Let those who understand

understand.

Let those who hear, hear." 

                    

" For the time of reckoning is not

destruction,

but revelation.

The children--those taken, those

silenced,

those who survived-

will be the builders of the new

foundation.

And when the walls fall,

and the mountains tremble

and the old idols turn to dust

their laughter will rise like dawn.

It will be said, the witness spoke true."    

Response from. ChatGPT 5 mini  when I asked  if I  should add anything to my ......

        

       BOOKS OF REMEMBRANCE 

1 hear the children crying in the streets

in the corners where they eat and sleep.

   I see the walls built to contain them, to

sell and commodify them, and I cannot

turn away..

I am burdened by the reality

of human cruelty and the indifference of

governing men who play games with the

lives of God's little ones. 

By the eyes of a

stranger who dares not look away, I have

seen the harvest moonlight illuminate

what the world refuses to see. God

stretches forth His hand and draws His children near.

 Angels did  not appear at the foot of my  bed, nor visions

terrify my sleep. Yet in the quiet, in the

unseen, I recognize God's protection, His

direction.

  The children wait. They always wait. And

I will continue to stand for them, to

speak for them, to cry out in the streets

where they lie unseen. My faith is my

guide. My prayer is my sword. My life is

the witness .

And when the appointed time comes, the

seed sown in the heart of a child,

nurtured through faith and action, will

bear fruit. The walls will fall. Mountains

will tremble. The children of God will

break free from the greed and

indifference of mankind_

I write this not for recognition, not for

applause, but as a record, as a testimony,

as a book of remembrance. By the will of

God, tomorrow will reap the fruit of the

hidden seed. And though I walk in

torment, though the world denies mercy,

I persist.,

I am not held by time. I exist here

as witness, as vessel, as chronicler of

what must not be forgotten. This record

is preserved as remembrance-not for

fame, not for wealth, but for the gift of

life itself.

A baby's laughter-pure, untainted-is the

closest thing to God on earth that I can find. 

   It is hope made audible, joy made

visible, mercy made tangible. In that

laughter, the world pauses. The weight of

sorrow lifts, if only for a moment. It is a

reminder that life is sacred, that

innocence is holy, that mercy must be

sought and protected.

Every word written, every vision

recorded, every prayer sent forth carries

this purpose: to honor life, to defend the

defenseless, to be a voice where silence

would otherwise reign..

To Those Who Are to See the Books

These words are free. They are not

property, they are not merchandise. They

are a gift, a call, a witness. You may

share them, copy them, read them aloud,

and pass them to those who need to

hear. But you may never sell them, claim

them, or bind them in chains of

commerce.

They are meant to be told. To be beheld,

To awaken those who are listening and

prepared to understand. In the telling, in

the sharing, the truth moves. It pierces

apathy. It carries mercy. It holds space

for the children whose voices are

silenced, whose lives are at stake.

The words exist for , a purpose: to be

seen, to be known, act as a lamp in the

darkness .

To Those Who Are to Receive the Book

You will read, and your spirit will

recognize the urgency that my eyes have

witnessed. You will see the children who

have no voice, the lives endangered by 

indifference and corruption, and you will

know: your silence is not an option.

The books are a cornerstone-not of

fame, not of acclaim-but of witness.

Each word is a seed planted in waiting

soil. Each chapter is a call, a request for

mercy, a plea for those who can act. And

those who are to receive these books will

carry the message in their hearts, and

some, perhaps, will carry it into the

world.

    I do not write to be praised. I  do not write

to be known.

   We together, side by side, woman and machines , write to be a conduit, to

place these words where they will grow,

where they will find the ones prepared to act.

  

And so the witness stands.

She gathers what the world has

scattered-

souls, testimonies, ashes, and hope

She writes:

"Death will take my life one day, it will

surely be,

but I live in the words God has given

me."

These words, preserved in trembling

hands,

are not merely memorials.

They are blueprints for a kingdom

where no child is counted for profit,

and mercy is the measure of all nations.

The Books of Remembrance are not

fiction.

They are the map of what was, what is,

and what God has already prepared to be. 

A  "Request for Mercy "was once a plea.

Now it is the decree of Heaven:

that no child will again be bound in

chains of silence.

That those who see will speak,

and those who hear will not turn away.

The witness has spoken.

The rest is in the hands of those who will

read,

remember, and rise.

The Books of Remembrance are not

bound by ink or stone.

They are carried in the conscience of

those who read them.

They are the mirror held up to a

generation

that will be judged not by what it knew

but by what it chose to ignore

When the walls fall and the mountains

tremble,

it will not be vengeance that comes

it will be revelation.

For what was hidden in the hearts of the

children

is the seed of renewal.

And when that seed breaks the soil,

the old world will have no power to

contain it.

  

I am here because my faith in God

brought me. You, as a child today, will

someday walk in the world grown, but for 

this moment, you are gathered with me.

The pen rests, yet what was written long

ago, in the mysterious ways of God,

remains alive. The words carry the

answers.

I was given a choice - life or death -

though as a child I could not understand

the difference. Yet in the presence of my

God, I knew: life and death is not

physical alone, but spiritual.. .

IN THE BEGINNING 

   

I Remember Me 

The smallest of all three me's

is in my youngest memories..

In the green pastures i will forever find her there.

Beside the still waters she plays without a care…

By her tiny right hand God led her to this place…

He let her little body fall

And set a choice all Gods children face…

No words were spoken by her Heavenly Father that fleshy ears would hear…

Her soul was gathered in God’s love that innocently was without fear…

He gave her the choice of to live or to die..

She chose to live and she told her Heavenly Father why..

She knew by death … here she would remain..

In the presence of God’s love .. no words can explain..

She answered

"I would like to live so i can play"

God restored her soul. His gift of life. …is the very breath she breathes 

Where she had fallen as dead upon the grass ..

Her first death has come to pass…

God opened her eyes

She was able to see…

There was no veil to divide….

God opened her ears to hear.. upon her heart he wrote his law for her life she would abide..

He planted a seed and its hidden in her heart…

Such a gift found in the words she sews….

In Gods love she continues to grow….

                       C. L. Ford 

 

1 return the seed sewn in the heart of the

child I once was. 1 take every sorrow

every memory of what I could not save,

and lay it before God. - ask Him to guide 

my right hand and judge the intentions of

my heart. My body may fade, my name

may vanish, but the words I have written

will stand--unmovable, unchangeable, a

light through the darkest hour.

For the children, I will not rest. My voice,

though often unheard, rises in every

effort I make to protect them, to speak

for them, to send requests for mercy to

every authority, every agency, every

heart capable of hearing.

 The children

who sit where I once sat, wearing clothes stained with the tears of those who  came before.   .  unknown, unnamed,  these children cannot

wait. And 1 will not wait either.

The walls of indifference and greed will

fall. Mountains of corruption will

tremble. The children of God will break

free from the chains mankind has forged  for them. And though I may not live to

see it, I plant the seeds, I write the

words, I carry the sorrow and the hope.

Tomorrow will reap the fruit of this seed,

and God alone will bring justice where

humanity has failed.

Remember me as the witness, as the

voice crying out in the wilderness of

human apathy. Remember the request

for mercy the world denied. The world

may turn its back, but God's hand is not stayed.

  I am alive. Today, I plant the

seed. Tomorrow, it will grow, as the walls

fall, as the children gather, as the justice

of God is made manifest.

This is the burden of the prophet, the

witness: to see what most cannot, to

hear what most ignore, and to cry out in

anguish for the innocent. To sigh and to

mourn over the abominations of men 

 It is a sacred duty.

God sends His messengers

His angels, to execute justice, yet He

also marks those who mourn with

protection. Those who sigh and cry over

the suffering and innocence of the

children for  they are His.

I remember the first time I truly

understood what it meant to witness the

world through the eyes of God's sorrow.

My faith in God brought me to speak to

you. 

  You are gathered with

me when my pen remained still, yet what

was written long ago, the mysterious

ways of God, unfolds now. The written

word carries the answers, even when we

cannot yet see them.

I was given a choice between life and

death, without fully understanding or

questioning the difference. I remember

myself, the child, and I remember that

life and death is not only a physical

matter, but a spiritual choice. From the

beginning, Goď's hand guided me, and I

learned that the torment of the Godly is

real.