Your new prompt word is
GIVING
Christmas should be a time of giving. Yes, there are presents that come into it. But it can also mean giving of your time, your love, your thoughts to others. What does the prompt mean to you?
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt RESPECT.
respect
has to be earned
even though
lessens can be learned
Respect
Respect is what we all expect.
Too often it’s not given.
We whine and mope on slippery slopes.
First give. Forgive what’s given.
“Respect” is meant to be earned.
That’s not what our children learned.
It was “deference” that we were really taught,
And that meant quite a lot.
Authority holds the ultimate guide
Where our kids’ safety and learning reside.
But “respect” means more once you’re grown.
We’re entitled to question what’s “known”.
With our values now equipped in mature mind,
We shan’t honor mere “titles” in kind.
Common courtesy is valuable still!
But “discernment” is a far greater skill.
My “respect” is now given with more due care,
No longer generic but something I choose to share.
Susan Batten:
Past Life
We managed before microchips,
potato chips and bytes.
For sure before the keyboards,
or the sparkling
Christmas lights.
For women, skirts, not trousers,
metal curlers,
dreams of tights.
We suffered from bad housing,
wartime horror
and no rights.
We managed with big ledgers,
wooden rulers,
leaky pens.
We ate the blotched
and dirty eggs
collected from damp hens.
We suffered childhood illness,
mass destruction,
dangerous bends.
But in this world we flourished
With the help of able friends.
We made a space for you to thrive.
Respect us in your “trends”.
I admire the strength of your wisdom
I eagerly look forward to it each day
I’m amazed by your steady dedication
Of sending strong messages our way
Your laughter and passion are welcomed
Bringing them to the dawghouse to play
I am grateful for all of the responses I see
So Happy Christmas and Merry New Years Day…HEY…
Whenever I hear the word “respect,” I think of soul singer Aretha Franklin.
Dignified Consideration
Cats domestic or wild do not offer humans any respect
Those felines just simply cannot be herded.
Some humans believe they are being compliant,
But they still choose to ignore polite set down ‘rules’
Because after all, we are each the center of
Our own universe – aren’t we?
So yes some humans are like cats, can’t corral them.
The best we can do in a group is to heed patience.
I know I am a rebel; for example, when cooking I use recipes
As guidelines – Those ‘receipts’ as recipes were once known
May have a respected historical place… but in my kitchen,
My domain, I am the ruler of the roost –
And if I don’t follow the exact proportions
I don’t feel I am disrespecting the recipe… I don’t use
As much salt as some recommend – does that make me bad?
I’m often in modification mode – I’m the same with ‘fashion’
I don’t really give a flying fig
About replacing my wardrobe yearly
I respect that some colors don’t coordinate, that’s my limit.
So I generally don’t wear red and pink together.
I will never be a fashionista –
Is that disrespecting the efforts of creative designers?
When I am in my writing zone –
I hope others will appreciate my efforts
And I’ll respect you if you point out small spelling errors
However, each document, verse or story
I produce has been written mostly at least
To my liking, so with due respect –
If you like it, fine – if not, say nothing.
When I was a foster parent, we always laid down the house rules practically before the new arrival had taken their coat off.
Whether a foster child or a permanent resident, everyone was treated the same, and should there be a problem, we were always prepared to listen, be impartial, and most important, fair.
We told them they were expected to respect everyone in the household, and in turn they would also be respected:
This would include their private space, privacy, possessions and opinions.
However, respect had to be earned and in turn, trust.
In four years and over fourteen kids placed in my care, problems were few and respect was not one of them.
Respect eons ago, was something every parent would expect, especially from our friends coming home with us from school for tea Rall: a world without manners good ones it seems a thing of the past and a great pity for all Fandango: The End of Respect The rain slicked streets of the city had a way of swallowing secrets whole. Neon signs buzzed like dying insects, casting fractured light across the alley where Detective Fred Morrisey dropped his cigarette and crushed it out with the sole of his shoe. Respect. That was the word rattling in his skull. In this town, respect was currency, and someone had just cashed out. The body lay crumpled against the brick, a man who once commanded fear with a glance. Vincent “the Gentleman” Russo. He built his empire on manners. He always tipped the waitress, always shook hands before breaking them. Even the cops called him “Sir.” Now he was soon to be nothing but a chalk outline waiting for rain to wash it away. Morrisey knew the city’s rules: you don’t kill a man like Russo unless you’re ready to inherit his debts. Respect wasn’t kindness here. It was armor. Strip it away, and you left yourself naked in a world of knives. The clues were thin: a cufflink glinting in the gutter, a lipstick smear on Russo’s collar, and whispers of a deal gone sour. Morrisey traced the trail to a smoky nightclub where the singer’s voice curled like smoke around broken hearts. Roxanne met his gaze, eyes sharp as razors. She already knew of Russo’s untimely demise. “Respect,” she said, “is just another word men use before they betray you. Look at he who sits on the right side of the king.” By dawn, Morrisey had the truth. Russo’s right‑hand man pulled the trigger, tired of bowing to a king who no longer ruled. No ceremony, no honor. Just raw ambition dressed in shadows. The city would forget Russo by next week, but Morrisey wouldn’t. He knew respect was the only thing keeping the wolves from tearing each other apart. And in this city, wolves never slept. Morrisey crushed his cigarette underfoot, the smoke fading like memory. Respect was dead. And the city was already hungry for the next funeral. 1994ever: The Teller and the Told The movement of air was released As it passed through shaking lips The ears were moved by the vibrations But the brain only received some drips Over again these actions repeated And therefore nothing was learned Forever frustrated, the teller and the told And so it will be, no respect earned
“R-e-s-p-e-c-t, r-e-s-p-e-c-t.”
“What are you doing?”
“Singing.”
“If you’re going to sing that song, I would put on some pants.”
Why
Why do we curse the bee
If protecting itself it stings
Yet are so glad to enjoy and eat
The honey that it brings
Why do we slay the snake
In our garden and bring it pain
Yet when it rids the yard of pests
We never do complain
Why do we love Mickey and Minnie
Oh how they are adored
Yet when we hear them behind the walls
We shriek and are simply floored
Why do we hunt the elephant
A tusk trophy to collect
When all earth’s creatures large or small
We need to give respect
Why do we hate other’s beliefs
And say oh god be praised
I cannot think of a reason except
It’s how we’ve all been raised
Tender Limits
most often than not,
people forget
that boundaries are respect—
that when a line is drawn,
it speaks of limits,
of space to breathe.
but in cultures
where being nosy
is casual,
even celebrated,
how do we nurture respect?
how do we keep our edges
from being stepped on?
some traditions
are worth holding close;
others are ready
to be let go.
and that habit—
that too-familiar reach
into someone else’s quiet—
is surely one
to release.
Respect Your Dog
Dogs are living conscious beings, and they should not be mistreated, hurt or treated disrespectfully. For example, don’t allow kids to play rough with dogs or take their food. Do not hit them. Do not push their face towards the feces when they have an accident inside the house. There is a widespread false misconception that you should. Again, respect your dog.
Do not keep them outside for a long time in the heat or cold. Do not abandon them, especially not to the wild where they will not survive. When your dog gets old, slow and boring, take care of it. You can get a new puppy but do not ever replace an old dog with a puppy. Doing so is cruel and immoral. Dogs deserve your respect.
This may be self-evident to most dog owners. However, I have seen people do these things to dogs and worse, so it bears repeating.
For more, click here
Respectfully
In our culture we greet elders by bowing down and touching their feet to seek their blessings. This is the way we show our respect to their age, experience and seniority. This is also a gesture to imbibe their wisdom, virtues and all the good and positive that they embody.
The elderly can be part of the close or extended family, friend’s family or any senior member of the neighborhood, community or society.
We even touch the feet of our teachers because they are our gurus , educators and groomers. Teachers are an integral part of any child’s upbringing. After our parents they are the ones who shape our overall personality – physical as well as mental – by imparting knowledge, instilling morals, showing us how to conduct in society and guiding us in various aspects of life.
We also bow down and take blessings of towering figures who we look up to, consider our role models and who inspire us by their ideals, leadership and contribution to society.
Bowing down, touching the feet and folding both hands in salutation, are gestures of respect, reverence, courtesy and also signs of humility and submission. In temples we bow down and touch the feet of the idol to humbly acknowledge the presence of the Divine.
Likewise, we also touch the feet of priests, monks, sages and sadhus.
We don’t address our elders by their first names as in our culture it is considered as a mark of disrespect. First names are only for equals or juniors.
Elders are addressed by the relationship we have with them. Since we have separate nomenclatures for relationships on paternal and maternal sides our address depends on which side the elders are of.
Not only in human relationships but a show of respect can also be seen when a factory worker touches his forehead to the body of the machine and says a silent prayer before beginning to operate it, when a farmer lays prostrate and kisses the land he tills, when a pilgrim or bather takes water of the river in the cup of his palm and splashes it over his head chanting mantras, when a soldier smears a daub of earth of his motherland on his forehead, when performers kiss the stage or dais on which they are about to perform. All these gestures show that respect is not merely an act but something far greater and more humbling, almost like devotion and worship.
The signs and symbols of respect differ from culture to culture and are deeply connected to tradition and ethnicity. Every gesture of respect is beautiful, pure and noble because they emanate from the deepest core of the human heart.
Healing Begins with Respect
Healing begins with respect—
for the cracks that let the light in,
for the tired bones that kept standing
when rest felt undeserved.
It is a quiet journey,
not a straight road but a spiral,
where each step returns you
to yourself, a little kinder.
Along the way, you learn to listen
to what hurts without flinching,
to honor scars as teachers
instead of verdicts.
Healing asks for patience,
and gives back wholeness slowly,
until one day you realize
the journey never fixed you—
it reminded you
You were always worthy of respect.
Sherrie
Sherrie had spent most of her adult life coaxing a dying thing to breathe.
At first, she’d believed her marriage only needed patience- a little more trying, a little more bending, a little more forgiveness. She was good at those things. Too good, maybe. Over the years she became fluent in the language of excuse-making, a translator for a man who never learned to meet her halfway. She sanded down her own edges until she barely recognized their shape.
By forty-nine, she had stopped hoping for change and started rehearsing for disappointment instead.
When her fiftieth birthday arrived, she didn’t throw a party. She packed. A single suitcase- jeans, work boots, three sweaters, a stack of paperbacks she loved too much to leave behind. And then she drove six hours north to the only other place that had ever felt like home.
She hadn’t seen the home of her childhood in years.
The yard was almost unrecognizable now, swallowed up by alder and wild rose, the gravel drive softened under a thick quilt of moss. Ferns unfurled where her mother’s hydrangeas once bloomed. The paint on the house had peeled into long curling strips, like bark. The porch sagged a little- but still held her weight as she climbed the steps.
As the sun set, glimmering and golden behind her, Sherrie stood on the porch and looked out at the overgrown land stretching before her.
She didn’t know exactly what her new life would look like. She only knew she finally had the courage to build a life in which her respect for herself- would be the foundation.
And for the first time in years, the world felt wide open- and hers.
***
Image credit: Pinterest
Esther Chilton 
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