You Are The Inspiration

 

You are the inspiration, Oh Lord. 

You are the music. You are the song. You are the melody and harmony. 

You are the symphony.

You are the breath. You are the wind that directs the course... 

the ins and outs of life... 

You set the sails. You steer the ship. You are the one.

You bring the tears. You bring the joys. You bring the memories. 

You bring the ideas. You bring the hope. You bring the new. 

You bring the comfort. You bring the strength. 

You hold us close. You let us go. You correct and you love. 

You are love,  

You are Love.

You write the stories; ...the testaments of lives, lived in you. You took the hand.. you warmed the heart. You held the broken. You laughed with joy. You... did! 

You were the inspiration. 

To live again...

To try once more...

To take up... and walk.

You!

There is no "good song" without your heartbeat in it_ and when the beat comes into the hearer's ears, "New Life" springs forth.

You steady us. 

You help us rise and take hold of Hope... 

and give us joy in the journey; expectation in the knowledge... 

that no matter the situation_ 

or circumstance You, can bring us a song.

No matter how dark the night of the soul, 

You will bring light. No matter...

For, there's nothing that can contain, confine or imprison such love!_ 

It trickles, then flows, then floods... 

And there is no place; no crack or crevice that will not be washed in the flow. 

Inspire us, Oh God_ 

For YOU  are the Inspiration!

 

7/26/22 

9:00 a.m. 

res

"THESE HANDS"

 

I beheld her hands as she lay there nearly lifeless. A dear and precious part of my life..as she breathes out what would be the last few hours of the breath of life that God, so many years ago, had breathed into her. 

My maternal grandmother, Ethel. Her frame... had now become so tiny it seemed,..  and these precious, tired, weathered old hands lay upon her, nearly lifeless body.

My mother stood there, gazing down upon her own dear mother's frame. The whole atmosphere in that Hospital room held that very moment of grief, of sorrow...and the process ticked by slow motion,... as that separation would soon come...and all, too soon. From where, had time so swiftly flown?

In that moment, I noticed my mother's hands. And I looked back and forth between hers and grandma's...and then I saw mine. Clearly, genetic markers were woven through DNA strands to weave out the resemblances of three generations of women whose lives were so different, yet similar.

This moment,... this moment,... brought all of us together in one time and one place for this last moment. The last time the three of us would share on this side of the veil.

I took Mom's soft, trembling hand in mine; gently laying it beside Grandma's and then I placed mine beside. "Look Mom! (I said)...Our hands look all the same!" God designed it so throughout these generations.

That was a precious, a sacred moment that has remained with me throughout these now many years. Grandmother passed away the following day. 

While my brother and I returned to TN, Grandma yielded up her last breath in IL, to the One who had given it.

Her funeral brought testimony of her precious witness and all the lives she had touched while she had journeyed here. My mother bore witness,...so many years ago.

Nearly nine years ago, I too, had to walk that shaded valley. As I watched my mother slowly and agonizingly slip away from this life,...These hands stood out. A reminder of that previous moment in time, years before.

Not long after Mom left for Heaven, one of her nurses presented me with a gift. A picture of my mother's hands. One she had taken when caring for her; of them laying upon her lap. She placed a lace border around it; along with a poem, "A Mother's Hands." That gift was one of the most precious to me.

Today, I am more observant of the hands of my children, grands, and greats,...of siblings and extended family members. I can see other resemblances, I hardly noticed before. As if somehow, these hands; awakened me to sight...to markers of God's intelligent design.

I see "These Hands" in my daughter. Though hers are so tiny, yet they are fashioned the same...as mine, Mom's and Grandma's. I'm getting a bit old now. If you look at my hands you would see the crepe-ing, wrinkled, slightly spotted, aging coming to pass. "These Hands"... like leaves that will soon fall from the tree when Autumn winds harshly blow and cool rains plunder down...

"These Hands"...

I see Grandmother, and Mother there. I see the hand of God; who in his infinite wisdom, designed it so.

"These Hands"... Rocked cradles, diapers bottoms, wiped sweaty brows, mended wounds, held loved ones, worked fields, planted seeds, hoed gardens, carried loads, prepared foods, laundered clothes, sewed buttons, picked flowers and washed fruit, nursed sick, stoked fires and put out emotional ones, welcomed guests, stroked pets, opened and locked doors, steered horses, climbed trees, played ball, wrote letters, filled hungry mouths, molded cookies and baked bread, wiped tears and held loved ones hands at death. 

"These Hands"... 

These hands were clasped in prayer to the unseen hands of God; who designed,,,

"These Hands."

I am so thankful...for "These Hands!"