So the best that I can do is give you the lyrics below and reference the artist:
The Last Song: Terri Hendrix
written by Bill Mallonee and Julie Miller copy right 1997
written by Bill Mallonee and Julie Miller copy right 1997
May your peace be an anchor
In stormy times
May your hope run like a river
That'll never run dry
May your burdens grow light
May your worries subside
This is my prayer for you
May your soul grow deep
May your soul grow deep
May your joy run wild
May your heart know the face of mercy has smiled
May your faith come to let you believe like a child
This is my prayer for you
This is my prayer for you
One of the best songs ever written, and sung beautifully. Find it, play it, buy it. Great artist and great song.
Okay, with that being said, let me discuss my weekend with my mom on her birthday. Let's just say that there were so many sound bites and moments, that I can't possibly include them all in this blog. Instead of focusing on my lessons so much, I will dedicate this blog to what everyone wants to know: how is she, and how many cards did she get. The following picture is of my mother and cousin sorting through the photos in an attempt to get a final "official" count. We had a running bet somewhere between 800 and 1500. Here is Patricia and mom sorting cards. We had only been out of the car and off the road 10 minutes when mom put us to work. I was cooking and Patricia was assigned the task of sorting:
And the aftermath scene played out as follows:
Mom really loved the cards from the elementary students. Most were sent from the Freeman school district in the Dallas area:
And finally here she is amongst all 1292 cards that everyone sent! Thank you everyone! You have no idea how much this meant to her and our family. Read beyond the pics for further updates.
My mother has become someone I never knew her capable of being, loving, humble and spiritual. I am blessed to have this opportunity to rediscover my mom, and for the opportunity for her to get to rediscover me. If you haven't had this opportunity with your own parent(s), this is my prayer for you.
2 comments:
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of the pew
where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend-my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense; I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak, comforted me at my father's death,encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life.When mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had
a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child without entanglements, to take care of
her. I counted it an honor. 'What now, Lord?'I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out
before me as an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat slumped against her
husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled
their child... All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother,preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible
together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone. I heard a door open
and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor....An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. 'I'm late,' he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, 'Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of 'Margaret?'' 'Because, that
was her name, Margaret. Never Mary, no one called her 'Mary,'' I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side of the church.
He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway?No, that isn't correct,he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering,Her name is Mary, Mary Peters.That isn't who this is.Isn't this the Lutheran church?No, the Lutheran church is across the street. Oh.I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir.The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face, hoping
it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing; too, as he glanced around, deciding it
was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing. At the final 'Amen,' we darted out a door and into the parking lot. 'I do believe we'll be
the talk of the town,' he smiled. He said his
name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of coffee.
That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married
at a country church where he was the assistant pastor.This time we both arrived at the same church,
right on time...In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter. In place of loneliness, God gave me love. This past June, we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick
tells them, 'Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and
it's truly a match made in heaven.'
If you Love God for all the marvelous things he has done for
you, send this on to others.
REMEMBER, God doesn't make mistakes. He puts us where we are
to be.
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