The dove perches.
She rests.
In the care of her Creator.
She has no cares.
She has no fears.
She just rests.
In peaceful trust.
In trusting rest.

Lord, help me to be like the dove.
O Holy Spirit Dove,
Put my mind at peace.
Put my heart at rest.
Just like.
The dove.

I teach her to paint flowers.
I play cards with her.
I wheel her outside in her wheelchair.
In the warm, sunny air.
I show her I care.
While my dear mother in Heaven
looks down and smiles.
I smile too.
And then.
Shed a tear.

My hands are cold.
They have not another hand to hold.
They are becoming wrinkled and old.
With time’s passage.
Work-weary hands. Hands used to create. To write words to my King. To love. To heal. To serve.
To.
Sin.

My hands are cold.
They have not another hand to hold.
But the nail-scarred hand of the One who is unseen.
The One who heals me, loves me, restores, redeems.
The One who cups my face in His hands and says:
“With you, I am pleased.”
The One who takes my hand, aging with time,
And says:
“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am He who will sustain you and carry you.” (Is. 46:3-4, para.)

My hands are no longer cold.
No longer without a touch of love to fill them.
For my Redeemer who loves me is holding onto me.
He takes hold of my right hand and says: “Fear not.” (Is. 41:13)

I walk forward now in peace.
With hands no longer cold.
Within His grasp.

When I am sinking in the floods of grief.
My only Anchor.
Is You.

I think of you now in Paradise.
Where the roses never die.
You stand beside Him in Glory.
In irreproachable Light.
Clothed in brilliant white.
Beside your Heavenly Bridegroom.
Holding a bouquet of red roses in your hands.
You are His Bride.
In whom He delights.
I am happy for you, sweet mother.
Although I miss you so.

A gentle smile alights your face.
As you stand beside Him.
Bathed in glorious Light.
Your heart is healed and whole now.
I see you running through gardens of roses,
Like a little girl.
With your Good Shepherd next to you.
Roses.
How you loved them!
Red roses.

Now you dwell in Glory.
Forever with the One who loves you perfectly.
Who loves you passionately.
Together you walk hand in hand with Your Eternal Bridegroom.
Where the roses never die.
Where the roses.
Never.
Die.

My feet still touch earth.
My mother's are in Heaven.
But we are together.
One in Spirit.
As we worship our Risen Lord.
Hand in Hand.
Before His Throne.
Together in Spirit are we.
No longer parted.
Though my feet touch earth.
And hers.
Touch Heaven.