Writing is my coping mechanism and the holidays have brought a cornucopia of memories to cope with. I was trying to block them so I would not feel so sad. But the Lord has told me that by doing so I am forgoing the pleasure of
the memory and feeling only the pain. So I will try to let them come--baby Tracy snuggled against my neck, my 4 year old last-child-at-home buddy, and so many others. The Lord reminds me those memories are mine
to keep. They are a gift He is trying to give me.
More Than Mine
Child of mine,
son, grown man,
whose life was always
in God's hands,
your time of death
was His to plan.
Mine to love,
but not to keep,
you're safe with Christ,
though your body sleeps,
yet you are more
alive than me.
And when I reach
my ordained time,
I'll seek your touch,
but first I'll find
pierced hands that loved you
more than mine.
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