A bounce,
A graceful skip,
A grin that splits open hearts to pour in joy.
A period that speaks truth.
A coma that gives people space to breath.
An exclamation mark through and through with every dance move.
A hand cooked meal,
A tea with a little extra masala,
A dessert that runs before the course because it is full of delight and warmth.
A frown of understanding,
A laugh like water over the edge of a falls,
A smile that has a little of imp in the eyes promising a seasoning of wit.
A rubber band.
A supple tree branch.
A soul that does not break with suffering but bends and bows and twists.
A friend in River City lost a friend, lost a ballast, lost her children's soul sibling and her garden all in the darkness of mourning the lose of her father-in-law. All I can think about is her smile. Her strength. She is on my fridge, she is on my heart, she is in my prayers but that is nothing. I am resting that she too is resting, leaning, reposing, in the Everlasting Arms. I pray that daily she is gathered under His Mighty Wing and that His promises sing hope in her season of lose. She is the poem above to me and so much more to so many.
A graceful skip,
A grin that splits open hearts to pour in joy.
A period that speaks truth.
A coma that gives people space to breath.
An exclamation mark through and through with every dance move.
A hand cooked meal,
A tea with a little extra masala,
A dessert that runs before the course because it is full of delight and warmth.
A frown of understanding,
A laugh like water over the edge of a falls,
A smile that has a little of imp in the eyes promising a seasoning of wit.
A rubber band.
A supple tree branch.
A soul that does not break with suffering but bends and bows and twists.
A friend in River City lost a friend, lost a ballast, lost her children's soul sibling and her garden all in the darkness of mourning the lose of her father-in-law. All I can think about is her smile. Her strength. She is on my fridge, she is on my heart, she is in my prayers but that is nothing. I am resting that she too is resting, leaning, reposing, in the Everlasting Arms. I pray that daily she is gathered under His Mighty Wing and that His promises sing hope in her season of lose. She is the poem above to me and so much more to so many.
It's too much! I don't know what God is up to, but it seems like too much. This is beautiful and true. She's a special one. L
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