We’ve been suspended between what was and what may be.
A year in and it appears the end is not yet in sight.
Much has been stripped bare; much lost.
We are ready for renewal; a reason to hope.
Nature is singing a song orchestrated by God.
Color is showing up in bold splashes begging for our attention.
Will we look on hesitantly or embrace the promise?
Can we have faith that God never forsakes us; trust his plan?
We can’t survive in limbo; we can’t shelter forever.
We have to begin living. Again.
Quiet ourselves and listen.
Do you hear?
Life is stirring.
Hope resides here.
Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are NEW EVERY MORNING; great is your faithfulness.
But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, And by His stripes, we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5 NKJV)
As many of you know my mother wrote poetry. She was never formally published but I wish we had pursued that while she was alive. She was in a poetry writing group for a while and had a few published in a couple of newspapers. She also generously shared poems with others when she felt a poem had a message that could encourage the person in whatever circumstance they found themselves. If you have a handwritten copy of one of her poems I hope you keep it as a treasure.
I promised her when she was in hospice that I was going to see that her poetry was published for the whole world to read. I have published a few on my blog, but I have plans, God willing to do a book of her poetry. Most of her poems were written in the mid-seventies through the mid-eighties. They were actually quite good; some, a little rough around the edges, needing some final editing.
In 1975 during Holy Week, on Good Friday, she wrote an Easter Poem and titled it Hallelujah. Because of the repeating refrain of This is Easter Morn I thought about changing the title of the poem but decided that the whole concept of Easter is definitely one big Hallelujah and that must be how she felt about it, so I left her title. I’d like to share it with you:
Happy Easter! I hope you find a church and attend on Easter Sunday to Worship our Risen Savior!
Celebrating in Grace,
Teresa
If you haven’t read it yet, I shared a whole series about losing my Mom to Alzheimer’s. I shared a few of her poems throughout the series. You can click here to check it out.
He draws me nearer and nearer to his heavenly throne
and let’s me see visions of that city fair
I fancy I see loved ones perfectly at home
Basking in the sunshine of his presence – God’s son!
Written by
Letha Bernice Tackett
April 3, 1982
I wrote on Day 3 That Heaven’s Sounding Sweeter All the Time. I remember the night I first had those thoughts. I was cocooned in the upstairs room that my Mom had wallpapered so beautifully. I was waiting for sleep to come and thoughts flooded my mind and I spoke them into my phone app so I wouldn’t forget them.
In those moments if Jesus had said come I would have gone gladly. Honestly, I think in those moments the reality of heaven spread over me in a way it never had before.
It is beginning to dawn on me that we have to live in the reality of heaven’s sweetness in order to truly be at peace in this life. We don’t really belong to this world if we are in Christ; We are just pilgrims passing through.
Clicking on the ladybug graphic will take you to the first page in this series with links to the daily posts. Thanks for reading!
POSTSCRIPT:
Thank you so much for reading along with me on this grief journey. I have many more stories to share when the time is right, but for now, if you will grant me grace, I am going to stop shy of the 31 days. I will be spending the day Saturday with a dear friend and then going home to spend a few days with my Dad.
I will probably take next week off, then when I’m back home I want to do a recap of what the past few weeks have taught me about my grief journey. I am not naive enough to think that I can write for a few days and be over the grief. Grief is an ongoing journey and once you have had a great loss it will always be with you, so I’m sure there will be many things to discover going forward.
I will be back to share more stories of my Mom, family, and other things. I hope that you will stick around and continue reading. I hope you have found hope and encouragement during this series. I know you have been a tremendous encouragement to me. Many of you have been gracious to tell me and that has been a blessing.
I hope you have enjoyed the poems of my mother’s that I have shared with you. If they bring you comfort you are free to share but please make sure you credit them to her. I’m hoping to find a way to publish all her poems in a collection. I think that would please her very much. She was a wonderful, creative, caring person and I want to pass her legacy on to her family and friends.
What is it that comes trespassing on my threshold,
Trying to seize me as its prey?
It has come unexpectedly; a peculiar unwanted guest.
It seems to be a shadow, robbing self of its rest.
Countless times it comes to scores with me
In sickness, peril, or accidents unavoidable.
It is there, this dreaded enemy;
It seems to be allowing time, yet it has no timetable.
Is there no way to escape that my spirit might be free
From this visitor who at my appointed time will join ranks with me?
To think I could escape would be pretending a farce.
I’d be robbed all joys of living; left hopeless without faith.
Ah! There is another victor stronger than death itself.
By the eye of faith, I vision everlasting life.
My faith soars upward as on an eagle’s wing
Christ’s is the final victory; O death where is thy sting!
Written By Letha Bernice Tackett
Fall 1975
“I do believe Christ is the only hope.” Those words were written by my Mom at the end of the above poem. She was right. Christ is our only hope. If we are in Christ, death has no victory over us. She is now enjoying everlasting life. Even in my grief, I recognize that the victory is now hers and I am happy that she is soaring on Eagles wings.
Grace for the journey,
Teresa
Come back tomorrow for more of the journey? Just a reminder that I usually post later in the day. Clicking on the ladybug graphic will take you to the first page in this series with links to the daily posts. Thanks for reading!
This is definitely my time of year. I can not soak up enough of the color that is in the air and on the trees. It has prompted me on a couple of occasions to wax poetic.
Still
“Winding Roads wrap around my soul like a scarf splashing orange and red Autumn.
Fiery hues consume me and lift me up to blue heaven.
I soak in the peace and am grateful for His art and how it hushes me.
Hope breathes still.”
TLH
I ask my husband every year to keep October as open as possible so we can bask in the glory of the season. He tries, but usually still books too heavily. Yet, we manage to squeeze in drives here and there.
This past Sunday, late afternoon, we made one last trek to gather up what was left of the color near Cave Run Lake. It was a gorgeous day and I snapped a few pictures as usual. I thought I would share them with you today.
My camera simply cannot capture the magnificence of God’s paintbrush, but it will give you an idea of the beauty that abounds in my neck of the woods!
MY OCTOBER “The wind sifts through the trees, harmonizing with the trill of a bird, not yet gone south. The nearby creek thunders through the woods with a mighty roar. October leaves dance, swaying from green to gold, dipping into amber and orange, blazing fire red against a scrap of blue sky that hovers just above the stately mountains. The sun warms the crisp air and I sigh contentedly from my perch on the porch rocker knowing that at last My October has arrived.” TLH
Wrapping color in grace,
Teresa
For the complete Prompted to Write Series that is part of the Write 31 Days of October. click the button to the left.
Teresa L Hardymon 