This email and poem is as much a blessing today as it was four years ago. (For those who don’t know – I used to run a ministry online for pastors’ wives – we called ourselves PWs)
I am from a purple bike with silver streamers, from McDonald’s hamburgers for 25 cents and cheese pizzas because we didn’t know there were more options.
I am from flat farmland with high mountains in the distance, from the smell of rich dirt on the wind.
I am from the mosquitos biting at twilight and the sweet smell of warm tomatoes on the side of the road.
I am from Grasshopper pie on your birthday, from Clifton and Magdalene and Ward and Helen.
From “work first, play later” and smiling eyes.
I am from dozing on Momma’s shoulder while I listened to the pastor. Now I’m the Momma – same pastor.
I’m from Northern California Ag land, walnuts and Grandpa’s garden vegetables.
From the coffee can aroma quelling my naseua in the backseat, sucking the sea salt out of my hair after a day at Dillon’s Beach, and making s’mores at the cabin.
I am from old photo albums – black pages and white spidery letting. I am from rolls and rolls of old movies with no sound.
I am from Grandma’s attic.
I received this via an email list I’m on for grieving parents. It was so uplifting to me today!
I know you’re feeling sad today
because I had to go.
I know you have so many things
that remind you of me so.
And though you cry as you recall
the times you spent with me.
I know your pain would turn to joy
if only you could see.
I’m in Heaven with Jesus now.
We laugh, we sing, we play.
He holds me gently in His arms.
I know no pain today.
And though we’re apart a little while,
Jesus has promised me
He’ll someday bring YOU here
where we’ll live for eternity.
by Lisa Robertson
I can feel the blanket covering me…
it affects everything I hear…
everything I say…
everything I see.
The blanket makes it hard
for me to enjoy life…
hard for me to care…
hard to do the simplest things.
There are times I feel that
I will be able to get out
from under the blanket,
but then I realize there
are times I don’t want to.
Somedays it’s too hard
to go on…
to enjoy life…
Those days I pull
my blanket over my head
and let the tears flow.
This is one of those days.
Copyright, 2003 – 2006. Amy Osborn
This is a poem I wrote awhile ago…and then put aside. But it’s as true today as it was then. Wonder if it will always be true?
My hands ache to touch your soft skin
My arms ache to hold you
My lips ache to kiss you
My mouth aches to blow your downy soft hair
My nose aches to smell your powdery fresh scent
My ears ache to hear your cry
My feet ache to move in response to that cry
My fingers ache to feel yours wrapped around them again
My breasts ache to give life again
My eyes ache to look into yours and see myself
My heart aches