I talked to my son today, so far
away—New Zealand. When did he become a
man? When did he go so far away?
I talked to
my daughters today—here, not New Zealand.
When did they become young women, here taking care of me?
I treasure today, but miss my young ones here with me at home.
Today I
found a poem by Ruth Bell Graham and remembered.
I
climbed the hills
through
yesterday:
and
I am young
and
strong again;
my
children climb
these
hills with me,
and
all the time
they
shout and play;
their
laughter fills
the
coves among
the
rhododendron and the oak
till
we have struggled to
the
ridge top
where
the chestnuts grew.
Breathless,
tired, and content
we
let the mountain
breeze
blow through
our
busy minds
and
through our hair
refresh
our bodies hot and spent
and
drink
from
some cool mountain spring,
the
view refreshing everything—
Infinity,
with hills between,
Silent,
hazy, wild-serene.
Then
. . .
when
I return to now
I
pray,
“Thank
You, God,
for
yesterday.”
Thank You
for the memories.
Faith Himes Lamb
No comments:
Post a Comment