Prayer for Patty –

care

 

When your soul screams loudly

through the night

~

all seems dark

your pain needs light.

I trust the one

assigned your care

will hear your cry

not just walk by

~won’t say simply “Come again”

or

“It’s just him” and not go in.

~

Rather touch your brow

with some concern

review your chart

your need to learn ~~

This kind of care

the human touch

right from the heart

means oh so much!

A loved ones call

at Christmastime

couldn’t get through

to know he’s fine ~

Like a baby’s sigh

of deep relief

that soothes the soul ~

no matter if

you’re young or old.

Ignoring ’cause

they’re “older folk”

just might have been

what caused the stroke ~

Again, I pray

when comes your time

that you’re not treated

like you did mine.

~~RIP daddy. Miss you much.

>Cheers to 91+ years<

 

Tear Catcher

valley

How many more miles…left in this Valley of Baca?  No horizon in sight, blurry eyes. Manufactured tears? I think not. They flow like no tomorrow.

 

Oh turn back oh time, turn back! Linger a little longer and taste the memory of care!!

The salt cleanses and purifies; yet sorrow knocks gently echoing the pounding of my heart.

Comfort approaches awakens awareness of His presence, not wiping away, but rather catching and containing each of the preciousness drops as liquid gold plops into that crystal vase of mine only mine, handmade by the lifter of my head and the healer of my heart, my creator who knew of today, and prepared to meet me here, there, wherever where.

Tears welcome here.

It’s okay to cry here.

Still here.

Still.

Be.

Tiptoe tears. Tiptoe.

Hold me.

Still.

As promised.

Again.

Look …there are pools!

 

 

 

 

‘To be wronged is nothing, unless you continue to remember it’

Showcasing mummuddlingthrough! mum of three, who has bless me! Her post resonates with me deep today. >ToLife<

mummuddlingthrough

Monday January 4th 2011 wasn’t really just any old Monday. It was the first Monday of the new year, the day we all dragged ourselves back to work after an over indulgent Christmas. The morning was dark and damp, and Mr G and I were tired as we had spent the weekend in London, as part of his Christmas present, watching football and having a romantic weekend away.

We had been married 6 months, and were hoping that we might be blessed with a mini-G anytime soon. We were trying to focus elsewhere, the house, having fun, but deep down we couldn’t wait for it to happen.

As we so often do in the excitement of a fresh new year beginning, that morning Mr G was full of ideas of getting fit and saving money, so he insisted on cycling to the station. ‘You’re mad’ I bantered with him, it…

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