She made me a momma, my First born. She was tiny and beautiful, and Dearer to me Than my own life. Once, in the old Lazarus Department store, as her Dad and I pushed her in a Stroller, a woman greeted us On the fifth floor. "I followed you up here so I could get a better look at Your pretty baby." And she cooed and smiled At our little one, as grandmas Like to do. Missy went through a spell when She wanted to play in the Middle of the night instead Of sleep.. I finally bought ear plugs and Let her "cry it out." It worked, and she never Held a grudge. Eventually, she married a Godly man and became A mom herself, traveling To the ends of the earth for Her precious babies. Melissa, my Joy, turns 47 today, And is still beautiful and Dearer than life to me. No matter how many years Pass, or how old both of us get, I'll always call her "my baby," And she'll always call me "Momma." |
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I filled in again, playing piano at
A nursing home. The meeting place was not ideal. A fireplace was stationed right in the Middle of the space, so some of The people were hidden from view. Also, it was in the lobby where people Kept walking through, talking, too, To each other or on their phones. Even the maintenance staff with Their mops and brooms pushed by, Equipment falling onto the floor. I wanted to stand up and protest. "Don't you know that a church Service is going on?" But Pastor Bernie didn't seem To be bothered. He spoke loudly, proclaimed The message boldly, and I tried To play the piano with a non- Working pedal the best I could. Afterwards, I spoke to a gentleman Who was sitting by himself. When I asked his name he said, "Trouble." We laughed. It was really Tom. "This is a nice place," I said. "Yes," he replied, "But it's not home." When I saw his tears I Scooted around his walker And gave him a hug. We shared stories about Living on the farm, and how we Both lost two spouses, and How our second marriages Were extra special because we Knew the brevity of life. He said, "We just have to make The best of it," and as I said goodby and walked Out the door, I saw Tom sitting there doing His best, and I wished that He could go home too. As I walked through the
Hospital corridor looking for A room, the receptionist asked Me, "Do you know where You're going?" "Yes," I cheerfully responded, "I'm going to heaven." "Hopefully, not right now," She answered me, Actually, I thought, Why not? The four of us had already ordered
Our meal, and as I routinely do, I asked our waitress, Michelle, if She had a prayer request since We were going to pray. The tiny, blonde gal responded, Fighting back tears. "My boyfriend has bone cancer, but I can't talk about it." And she dashed off to another Table. When she came back, I Engaged her a bit more. "I'm so sorry you are going through This. My husband died, and I know How hard it is." She opened up then, spilling out Deatails about her difficult Life, and how her boyfriend won't Talk about his cancer, hasn't even Told his parents. "We both need help," she said. Each time Michelle came Back to our table, we talked some More, and when we left I wrote A note to her on one of My tracts and handed it to her. "I'll keep praying," . "Thank you," she said. "I'm glad "You came in here today." And I responded, "So am I."
Farther along you won't
Cry as much. Farther along you won't Feel like you're cut in two. Farther along you'll Feel like the sun is shining again. But it's still early in your grief, So I'm praying that Jesus will Hold your hand, and Carry you when you Can't go on, And give you a song until You're farther along. It's a tension we face when
We're bereaved. Dear broken Bill expressed it Today. "I'm glad she's no longer Suffering. But I miss her so much." As he wept, I held him gently in My arms. No children. No grandchildren. He feels totally alone. It was hard to look at the agony in His wounded eyes, and his Hunched over shoulders, but I didn't turn away. I consoled him the best I was Able, knowing that God Can give him the courage to Want to exist. "He will go through it with You, Bill." He will. He was torn, so very grateful His wife's pain was over, But wondering how he Could possibly bear his own. It was a communion service,
A time of remembering Jesus, His death, His resurrection, His salvation. We were singing hymns of praise, A moving time of worship. I heard the lady in the pew Behind me. She sang loudly even though her Voice had an unpleasant Quality, A low, almost guttural sound. Born in another country, She had trouble pronouncing Some of the words. She interspersed her singing with Bold "Amens!" and "Thank You, Jesus." Did she know she was off key and That her tone was mostly a Monotone? Did she know how she sounded? I told her. I hugged her and said, "What a joy it was to sit in front of You and hear you praising the Lord with all your heart!" And we both left blessed. |
Dorothy Kalb Hsu Seitzinger
Writing poetry has helped me process and express my sorrows and joys, my concerns and blessings. "Life is hard, but God is good!" Archives
December 2020
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