Dirty Windows & Grace

I saw the dirt. It disgusted me. How could she stand there in her house and let her window look so awful? I couldn’t imagine letting mine collect all that grime.

I couldn’t help but stare as the woman struggled to care for her house. She vacuumed and dusted. She wiped down the counters and made meals. She took out the trash and she smiled at all those who came into her small home. What hypocrisy! Her window stood neglected while all else was tended.

I stared as she fell on her knees in grief. I watched her scream and rail against the walls, but then grow quietly peaceful as she looked toward heaven. I saw her dance when the good news came and I watched her cry when hard news brought its loss again.

I vigilantly watched her life, but I could not ignore that dirty window. I saw everything through the smudges, the dirt, the trash, and the very things I would never neglect to care for. Even so, her genuine heart welcomed person after person and she served them with such love, but that window tainted everything for me. Continue reading

The Dark Place of Womanhood

She stood in the storm of words. They spun around her and cut her in every way. She was beaten, bruised, and wounded with the intangible force of words. She swallowed all the words and the storm immediately subsided. It now raged within instead of without. And though she was full of phrases, insults, and two-faced talk, she was emaciated.

She crumpled herself into a heap, and she was glad to do so. She retreated within herself and replayed the words over and over again. And though all was quiet in the day, her night was filled with the same war over and over again. She relived all that cut her heart in two, and she made it fall to shreds.

And then another woman passed by. This woman looked burdened all the same, the streaks of tears barely dried. The crumpled, angry heap sprung from her retreat and unleashed her harsh words atop the wounded woman. The woman was ravaged by insults and sneers. All the hurt was spilled over to her and she lie down in a heap.


Both women were cut and bleeding from the intangible force of words…words they had crafted into a storm. The women retreated into themselves and ignored one another, until they saw another passerby. They leaped from their wounds and flung the absolute force of their words to tear another woman apart. The three women splintered one another as they let go of the personal storms raging within. Continue reading

Revealing the First UN-Story Ever Told

the prologue

I stumbled here quite on accident. I think I may have turned the wrong corner in the 5-tree forest. I had never seen this Cottonwood Lane before and was shocked to find it so close to where I live. I think Cottonwood Lane needs some brightening up, but I can’t rightly say how long I’ll be sticking around. It actually kind of depends on you. I guess I should have started with an introduction! Oops!


HI! I’m Betha Bee. I’ll never know why my parents picked that name instead of Bethany. But they also jabber on about how it means life voyager. I guess that’s pretty cool. I like silly things and fun adventures. I’m not much for school, and I absolutely cannot stand books of any kind. Who would want to read another person’s story when they could be one themselves?! I live just around the bend. I don’t think I will personally bump into you for awhile, so I need you to listen closely!

If you have any ideas or adventures that I should be pursuing, please email me at bethabeeadventure@gmail.com. I’d love to know your thoughts! Also if you have a friend or a kid who may be interested in telling me an idea or two, please share my email address! You can’t actually get to where I live, so we will just have to meet down Cottonwood Lane. Like I said, this place needs brightening up! OK, I’ve gotta go! If you want to talk to me again, email me!

If not, I guess you’ll just have to wait until I show up at Cottonwood Lane and who knows when I’ll be back again. Also, if you notice that there are any stories about me going around, please notify me by email. I’d like to know. Things must always be off the record. Sort them in an un-story if you must, but never a story or a book. Oh, I hear my friends Bobby Blue and Funny Sunny calling. Gotta go. BYE!

here are me & my friends. they said I could send a photo!