Love's Disappointment

All with love toward anyone has encountered disappointment. It's part and parcel to love. In fact, it's inescapable. When anyone decides to love another they open themselves up to all of its giddy butterflies as well as all of its heart wrenching aches. If you only want one end of love's continuum (the feel-good end), then you'll never know love at all. As the recipient of these juxtapositions, it's hard enough when you're stretched from one side to the other. But what about when you're the deliverer of them? It's not difficult to know when you're bringing the fulfilling part. You can see it on their face, you can sense it in their spirit, you can hear it in their voice. But if you're hearing, if you're watching, if you're attuned (if you're loving), then it's also not hard to know when you're bringing the not-so-fulfilling part. Hard love, complete love requires respect for both. This morning I promised my little Willow-tree that she'd have a special day with Daddy tomorrow, a day where we could hold hands, dress up, drink hot chocolate and gaze at dazzling Christmas trees. It would be a day to remember. I looked forward to it, and she spoke of it all day today to her friends, her siblings and her mother. But then life happened. Another love, another love was necessary, and that love would require this love to be disappointed. Now the tension. Now the choice. Either way, there's disappointment. That's love. But I learned something invaluable today. I learned something from a weeping Willow, a young sapling, a tender shoot. I learned that devoted love accepts disappointment when love extends beyond yourself. Willow knew that my love stretched beyond herself and that she could love by letting my love touch another. It didn't stop the tears, but it did soften the blow because she knew, even at five years of age, that you cannot hold onto love and hoard it. I suppose if I were to ask Willow if this is how she was loving today, she'd look at me with a tilted head and a puzzled look. But she doesn't have to explain it; she just has to live it.

"God with us", 2011

(This may be difficult to read in it's current image, but click on the picture and it will enlarge and become much more readable):

Emmanuel,

A Fool In My Strength

O' those words
They seem like foolishness to the dust
They seem like lies from another man
O' Your book
A cross with a dying soul
A body that's more than man?

You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be

Being saved
Wisdom that is composed
Power has me enclosed, by You

You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be

Your foolishness
Your foolishness is wiser than me
You weakness
Your weakness is stronger than me

Wisdom?
Strength?
Foolishness to the dust
Shaming the wise
Weakness to trust
Shaming the strong

You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be

You have given me eyes
You've given me eyes to clearly see

You have given me life
You've given me life to really be

- tmk

- 12.11.2011

- I Corinthians 1:18-31

there's a spider in my room

"there's a spider in my room", says the tired Poppy to her daddy. sleeping in a place with such a creature, even if all the way on the other side and only minuscule in size, is just simply impossible. "let me take care of that for you, Sweetie", says daddy. as if not afraid, but truly so, she takes my hand and walks down the hallway to the bed. not looking, but only pointing in a direction to a dark splotch on the wall, I say as I see her unwelcome guest, "no problem". leaving, I return with tissue in hand while she watched its death, and now at peace.

I don't like the spiders of life; they're creepy, feeling on the move, wondering what they are and when they might bite. few do, but it's not knowing that makes me restless. sometimes, oftentimes, I just lie there, hoping they won't venture my way. I can't sleep. yet, all the while, my Father's right next door, ready to comfort, ready to "take care of that for you." it's "no problem" for Him. that's why He's there.

Poppy, being Poppy, has helped me tonight. I shall rest in peace, as she now is, without the fear of spiders in our room.

more than enough

i WAS tired, far sooner than usual. a 9:15 beckoning to a down comforter seemed just right. it takes awhile for such soft surfaces to warm up when all alone, but once there i found a slight cough troubled my throat, enough to keep me from leaving that state to another. my tiredness turned to restlessness, and for the first time in a long while i felt as though God was asking me to arise quickly - He had something to say to me. after reading a bit, i meandered over here to start writing; something i've not done in awhile.

writing for others to read has me stumped - my motives constantly in check. a respite necessary, just to make sure that my thing doesn't become THE thing, always wanting (deep down) for Jesus to be that. even my family, my children, my wife, our adoptions, they cannot be THE thing, but they have at times, often times. my greatest quandary in life, yes the greatest of all, is living in love with Jesus at the expense of myself. the pull to have others see me more than even Jesus is almost Herculean. i'm ashamed. and yet, deep down, i know, i know for sure where my true love resides. and so, i'm back, yet again, to try to exalt what i love, what is Love, and to do so through me, through us, to only see Him.

our lives are simple - we're married and in love, we have many children, we have work, we have a home, we even have health (for now)... nothing exemplary, nothing outstanding. but there's a drive to be outstanding, to be exemplary, to be... as if, it were not good enough. and this, this has been the strife. when will i, when will we be good enough? when will we have done enough? when is enough enough? never, simply never, because enough is Jesus.

i've returned from my favorite place on earth over Thanksgiving break to this grounding truth. all else is fading into the fog again, fading under this love. and o' how sweet those moments are when you see clearly the overarching truth that to love God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might is liberating, and then all of the sudden you see clearly that everything else now falls into place - when loving becomes all.

with more than enough,

P U R E

Our most recent article is available by clicking on the link below:

http://graceforus.org/pure/

Yearning for this,

Scent

there's a scent in the air,

the fresh of Fall,

Summer cooling,

days move small

too a sense in the soul,

season of Fall?

Summer fading,

heart's new call?

the seasons now churning,

outside and in,

feeling in love,

Jesus again

those dog days of Summer,

thirsting to end,

waiting to quench,

His springs to send

~tmk

The Old Oak Tree

We love our old back yard Oak. It's home to squirrels that gleefully play in its branches and depend on its acorns for winter's supply. Blue Jays sit in it and mock their teasing subjects while arrogantly peering down upon them. Thatched rope swings have hung from its reaches, and children have giggled and swung carefree while trusting its strength with utter abandon. It sits next to Grizzly Creek where it's fed copious amounts of H2O, and it's shielded by a hillside on its southeastern exposure. Many years ago someone planted non-indigenous Eucalyptus trees on that hillside to act as a windbreak. Those trees are home to a pair of owls that make it their seasonal nesting place and soothingly hoot at dusk right before they venture for an evening's out. Those trees also serve their purpose and capture the silence of wind that makes it howl while screaming across aromatic leaves. The Oak is crooked, and all bent in every different direction, except on that southeastern side where shaded by another of its species. Limbs have struggled to sprout there and the bark on that half of its trunk is scaled with moss. We're told the tree may be over 150 years old. If only it could talk... the stories it might tell.

Over the last few summers our neighbor has slowly removed some of those Eucalyptus trees, perhaps to improve the view, or perhaps to reduce a fire's fuel. While we were originally saddened to see some of the Eucalyptus forestry felled, our Oak is now seeing the light of day where it's rarely felt it for years gone past. We can already see signs and sighs of relief as it welcomes that long lost nutrient, its warmth and its rays. We know the tree will never fully balance with limbs growing where it originally desired, but in a way we like that because it's shape is a reminder of so many things about ourselves, about our children, about our adoptions. We leave our imagination to venture the similarities, and end here with what cannot possibly be captured by word.

To live under that Oak was a dream, now one come true as we christen a small cottage to welcome our children, our family, our friends and ourselves. The tree was begging for more friendship, or maybe we for its. Perfectly framed by all of the tree's irregularity, the small dwelling sits right under its shade. Now its light source comes not only from above and all around, but also beneath.

We love our old back yard Oak.

In gleeful abandon,

Flip Flops Have Flopped My Flip

There's a fairly good chunk of my life where I've asked, "Show me Yourself, God!", when all the while He's shown all around. But what I'm really asking for are signs, you know, the kind Jonah wanted? I never really believe He's going to do it, at least not in the ways that I expect. But then again, there's hope, right?, - that word sandwiched right in the middle of the great Pauline love letter (I Corinthians 13), "faith, hope, and love...".

Last summer my family and I travelled to see Austin and Meagan in Denver. Life's never been quite the same around here with the distance between us, so we all make an effort to catch a glimpse of completeness by reuniting as frequently as possible. At this visit we took several day trips together, and at one of them ended up at the mouth of a lake in the Rockies. Never ceasing to take advantage of a possible fishing opportunity, always prepared, Austin grabbed fly rod and reel and waded out to just the perfect spot. I sat on the shore and watched with eager eyes and an envious heart. He called out to me and, without hesitation, I waded to where he was. While I wasn't nearly as prepared with the gear and all, I figured a swim suit and pair of flip flops would suffice. But half way out to Austin I found my ill-equipped feet sinking deeper and deeper into the muddy lake bottom, with my flip flops acting as suction cups that required an awful lot of energy to release with each passing step. Suddenly, one of my cherished flip flops snapped, right at the rubber prong between my big and index toes on the right foot. I loved those flip flops because they were "seasoned", you know, worn in. It would take me at least a year or two to buy another pair and get them broken in to just the perfect comfort level.

With disappointed heart, I wasn't about to let a piece of cheap rubber ruin an opportunity to fish, so Austin said he was sorry my sandal broke, but... "Here's the pole, Dad, fish away!" No sooner had I grabbed the pole and begin to re-enact the lost art of fly fishing grace, did I see a small object come floating down the river, directly toward me. It bobbed along, riding the current with ease. It moved in my direction, as if a magnet were pulling it toward me. Eventually I could astonishingly make out it what it was, so I waited to see if it would get close enough for me to bend down and pick it up without losing my balance and embarrassingly submerge in the cold waters. Sure enough, it floated within my reach, so I gingerly leaned over and grabbed it. Wouldn't you know? Another flip flop, right footed too. I pulled my right foot out of the mud and slipped the thong on. Like Cinderella and the glass shoe, it fit like a glove, a perfect Size 9, and seasoned to boot. Black, matching my other surviving flip flop, but with blue accents, just to make it distinctive from the other. I showed it to Austin, and we both snickered in disbelief. I continued to fish, only now with an even bigger grin on my face. What more could I ask for? Fishing in Colorado, with my son, and a completely restored pair of seasoned flip flops.

Some may think I'm silly, but I'm convinced God sent me that flip flop, answering my long-time prayer for a miracle. And although miracles happen all around me all day long, and sadly I fail to see them, this summer I wear my flip flops and am reminded every time I look down at my feet that God really is with me.

Flip flops have flopped my flip,

day's new rise

the day's new rise,
it sounds from Above,

with mourning dove coos
and covey quail cackles,
a flutter of wings,

and the still horse profile,
water trickles,
screaming every shade of green,

it's the breeze of His breath,
announcing blue skies overhead

it's the day's new rise,
it sounds from Above

~ tmk

(Santa Margarita, California)

God Danced

I can't remember who gave me this image of Jesus, with His impassioned, grimaced face feeling all that's ever felt, absorbing all that's ever been wronged, and carrying all that's ever let go. My eyes gaze upon it throughout the day... it sits right next to my computer screen. The one with his back toward me, why... he's limp. Needing this embrace I, too, have gone limp. Feels good. Feels like this is right where I need to be.

Before posting, I read what was written on the back by someone unknown to me:

God Danced

On the day I was born, God danced.

Did you really, God?

Was it a ritualistic, dignified,

bow from the waist kind of dance?

Or was it just possibly a wild and crazy

arm-flinging kind of thing?

Did you pronounce somberly

that here was another 'good girl' ('good boy')

that you created?

Or did you yell and holler and

grab the guy on the corner

to let him know that this time

you had really done it!

This time you created a winner --

This one was going to go all the way!

I hope you did, God --

I really hope you did.

~ Unknown

God danced,

It's Perfect

A bed without a bride is like a sunset all alone. Warm, cocooned, serene, but the missing robs its complete. Searching for the next best thing I swoon two little Chinese bundles of limp into my arms, already aloft in another world. Gently I place them onto the cold mattress. No matter, their place supersedes this place. Wrapping them with knitted cotton nearby, I hope to enhance this place that that place might not be disturbed. Standing over them the muscles in my face twitch to raise the corners of my lips, but no one can see. Now gingerly wiggling myself under those heavy blankets, I snuggle the littlest one. Body warmth warms mine. My hands touch the bottoms of little feet - my favorite part. Silently thankful, I sink into the place they are, missing her as my own sun sets.

A third of a day passes as if it were a second. The cushions now perfectly acclimatized, all three leave and begin to come back. Limbs move, bumping into the others. It's light now. The fluffy feline pushes his pads into my chest, the sound of his nails pulling the coverings off. Snickering from the girls pulsates my ears, and now the new day dawns. Still without bride. Still with them.

Writing here, while others with still closed eyes, the two skip into the room. "Daddy, please come look now!" Hesitant, but also eager, I walk behind them. "Close your eyes." "Now open." There was that place we shared last night. All made up, their own best way, almost like mine. Lumpy, wrinkly, disheveled, but a proud sacrifice to bring me joy. Hugs, kisses, thank yous. An impulse comes over me to straighten it out. Catching myself I restrain. It's perfect, just the way it is.

Keeping my eyes now open for more perfection today. Don't think I'll fix a thing,

Until the Snowmelt

A peek into our season of silence, a dusting of snowfall blanketing the countryside - all sound is muffled until the melt:

"He must increase, but I must decrease." ~ John the Baptist

Seven words…. that’s all. Short, simple and straightforward, yet profound, poignant and penetrating. I think my little six year old Poppy could read them, but I’m not sure that even Einstein himself could fully decipher them. This declaration spoken from Jesus’ lifelong relative (and “friend of the bridegroom”) thousands of years ago has mystified me from the day I first breathed divine air. Even today, dozens of years later, I cannot read these words without them stopping me dead in my tracks. Their meaning, their applicability… what are they for me?

This guy (John the Baptist) was seemingly impetuous. He had “fire-in-his-belly”, fueling “fire” from his mouth. John called it like he saw it, he didn’t mince words. He was considered an enigma, a freak, eating strange food and wearing odd clothing, yet multitudes flocked to him. Why some even said, “He has a demon!” (Matthew 11:18b) On the other hand, John was a servant, humble, self-effacing, honorable, and merely saw himself as a needle that pointed away and toward another. His courage, passion and conviction landed him in prison, leading to his head being dished up on a platter. Contrastingly, the guilty hands stained by his blood represented everything John did not.

Just before his gruesome death, and right at the climax of his truncated "career", the tables turned for John. The throngs that were magnetized by him ricochet to another. It just so happened to be toward the one John called "... the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29b) the one John was all along straight up about. John was always adamant about making it crystal clear that it was never about him, that he was not the Christ – not even close. So it only seems natural in one sense that John would simply say (when Jesus showed up on the scene) that the time had come for the one he’d been talking about all this time to rise up and for him to step aside.

Part of me sort of just wants to stop there and say to myself, “Oh, I get it. Of course Jesus the Christ must increase and John the trumpeter must decrease”, and leave it at that. But ripples still pulsate in the glassy pools of my heart. Could it be that some greater relevance is accessible for me? Can John’s desire also be mine even though I'm not the one “crying in the wilderness” (John 1:23)? “Please God, let it be so.”

We're separated now by space and time but, as radical and stanch as John was, we still share much alike. Our spiritual heritage is identical, and our godly ancestral position equal (cf. Ephesians 2:1-3, Galatians 3:26). He doubted as I do, but is loved as I am (cf. Luke 7:20, John 3:16). His temptations were common, with his hope and belief the same as mine (cf. I Corinthians 10:13, Romans 4:23-25). And the ultimate need to be rescued from his nature, like mine, remains unchanged today. His innate desire to be for himself what only Jesus could appease was (and is) identical for all mankind - to elevate and honor himself above his Creator. This is why and what John bellowed from the riverbanks. What he hearkened unto the crowds he hearkened unto himself, and then he symbolically cleansed with water those who recognized their need to be brought low that a Savior might be high.

Sound all too familiar? Probably, especially if you’ve been a follower of Jesus for quite some time. This is the essence of what we call good, great news, and we Christians talk about it all the time. But I sometimes get discouraged after all these years because my desire to be prominent and renowned can still take precedence over lauding Jesus. It happens when I want to be first in a competition that others might see my prowess, or when I advance in my vocation to be held in superior status, or when I have more facebook friends than another that my popularity might be on display, or when I worship with exuberance that my passion might be distinguished, or when I raise three children and adopt three others that my sacrifice might be flattered, or even when I write this blog post so that others might think I'm profound. These inklings stream through my veins. I want to increase, even though I know all too well that what John said earlier is right, “A man can receive nothing, unless it has been given him from heaven.” (John 3:27) Crazy thing is I sometimes don’t even know how to shift the honor due Him toward Him. Please don’t tell me I’m alone.

In a way, John’s fame was greater than Jesus’ before He “officially” stepped into the foreground. John had just about everyone’s ear – from the commoner to the highest ranking officials. Surely he faced the lure of self-promotion and aggrandizement square in the eyes. Yet he yielded all of who he was to Jesus. And John went even further, wholly surrendering that Jesus “must” increase and, conversely, he “must” decrease. It’s imperative, it’s the quintessence of being Christian, and it’s the consistent message he’d been saying from the beginning. John was never described as desiring anything but that Jesus be amplified and John abridged. He saw himself but as only a voice, just a voice. In fact, John considered himself to be so insignificant he wasn't worthy to perform even the lowliest of all slave labor tasks - loosening the ties of the Master's sandals (cf. Mark 1:7). "But how, John? How?"

In the natural realm, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction (Newton’s Third Law). When a force is exerted upon an object, a counterpart force is exerted in the opposing direction. In the supernatural realm, for every exaltation there is an opposite humiliation. When someone genuinely deflects adulation to another, a counterpart resignation is accepted by that someone. And for anyone to increase and the other to decrease, there simply must be a relative comparison to another, otherwise how would anyone be higher or lower if there wasn’t someone, something to measure against?

Nowhere is it recorded that John measured himself against another human being. On the contrary, it appears he couldn’t have cared less how he stacked up alongside another, and that would be everyone, except one – the One, Jesus. And in this case, John demanded that he himself only be brought lower that Jesus might be brought higher. The irony of it all is that the One John wanted to elevate had to become the lowest that I might be united with the Highest. “… the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” was also “the Lamb that was slain” (Revelation 5:12). And “the Lamb that was slain” descended that He might ascend “far above all the heavens” (Ephesians 4:10), where He is now preparing a high place for me (cf. John 14:2-3).

I've come full circle, and so it is here I must stop, and it is here where I should always stop – at the cross, at the good, great news. All of life always boils down to this. With Jesus now in my foreground, I plainly cannot be focused on two objects at one and the same time. The object of myself or another simply must, and will, decrease as the object of Himself increases.

He must increase, but we must decrease,

Bye Bye, Sweet Penelope

My Sweet Dear Penelope,

I loved....

• the way you relentlessly pawed on the doors when you wanted in or out of a room
• your sweet smell
• the way you would rub up against my legs when you wanted love
• the noise you would make when I loved on you
• your purr that could be heard from a mile away
• the way you would cuddle with me when I cried so hard
• how beautiful you are
• how your name used to be wolly
• the subtle way you warned me when you were about to bite
• your gentle little soft sweet paws...those were my favorite
• your one gray whisker
• the way you could smell tuna from miles away
• the way you would always find the smallest patch of sunshine and position yourself right in the middle of it
• the way you would scratch your back on the driveway by rolling around
• your love of christmas morning or any celebration that involved ribbon and wrapping paper
• the way you greeted me every time the family returned from a long trip
• the way you escaped from the wrath of Carmel
• the way you would twitch and "lick the air" whenever I scratched your back
• the way you attempted to catch birds and mice...but never actually did
• the way you always found your favorite spot...and wouldn't move for days
• the way you would often trip me as I was walking down the hall
• the way you hid under the bed for days when daddy first brought you home
• the way you kneaded whenever you purred
• how you let me hold you like a baby...
• the way you drank milk out of large tall glasses
• the way you brought so much joy into my life
• the way you were my "kitty"...my "Queen of Sheba"
• the way you would so purposefully blink
• the way you always wanted to be around the family...while acting completely unamused
• the way you welcomed Carmel into the family
• the way mommy and I made voices for you....that were O so fitting for your personality
• the way you SO gingerly walked around...especially if your paws touched anything wet
• the way you would stare at me when I meowed at you
• the way you win the award for the sweetest kitty in the world

Penelope, I love you more than you'll ever know. You have such a special place in my heart. Thank you for being the sweetest, most wonderful kitty a girl could have ever asked for...Rest in Peace my lovely girl. I love you.

Love,

Annie

Bonhoeffer

I'm riveted by this man, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. His most recent biography by Eric Metaxas attempts to explain someone that is beyond explanation. His passion and conviction seem unprecedented to me, all borne from (seemingly ironically) Jesus' peaceful Sermon on the Mount. I've since gone back and poured over that sermon with a plea for eyes that might see more clearly, ears that might hear more intently, and a spirit that might be moved more completely.

To help I paraphrased Jesus' Beatitudes to contemplate them more easily, and here they are:

The poor in spirit,
their kingdom is heaven

The ones who mourn,
their comfort shall be

The meek of soul,
their inheritance the earth

The parched of holiness,
their satisfaction brought nigh

The pure in heart,
their vision is God

The display of peacemakers,
they're sons of God

The persecuted for righteousness,
their kingdom is heaven

The reviled of Jesus,
their reward is heaven

And while Jesus' Sermon on the Mount encompasses much more than the Beatitudes, I couldn't go any further into it as I'm now riveted again by this man, Jesus, and the first eight stanzas from His mouth as He stood on a hill and echoed from God.

Contemplatively,

My Cause to Pause

Today Victoria sent me a phone mail message and picture that melted my already gooey heart, stopping me dead in my tracks with a cause to pause. Her message, to quote verbatim, "Poppy's art from today (from kindergarten)... five years ago she didn't have a family... so grateful she's ours!"

This weekend will mark our five-year anniversary ("Gotcha Day") with a heart-broken, uncontrollably weeping and helpless little girl that we didn't have a name for (except her given name, Qing Zu Qiao). Hours later, while we all lay on a hotel bed staring frozen at this bundle of wonder, Victoria looks at me after a little giggle from that same pathetic face just moments before, and says, "This is one of my best days."

And right now? This is one of my best moments.

The Full Spectrum

Victoria tapped into her spontaneous side today and at the last minute decided she'd head down to surprise Annie before finals week @ CalPoly San Luis Obispo. That's the bright and fun side of the experience. The dark and not-so-fun side is what must occur immediately beforehand - telling all the kids that she's going to be gone for the weekend. Adventures that don't involve the entire family are always two-edged swords.

The reactions between the two youngest girls at Victoria's pronouncement are as juxtaposed as night and day, and even have the feel of each. Poppy's fear and sorrow immediately set in, and her usual angelic face turned into a sopping wet cascade of "alligator tears". But Willow's joyful and carefree countenance remained unfazed, bouncing like a little "Tigger" from one room to another as if life were a box of chocolates - they're all sweet even if they come in different shapes and types. And while Piper is disappointed her Momma will not be there to lean on, she's old enough to process space and time, also realizing that momma's are stretched and need to be released to do more than care for just one. And Barret? He's just been there too long and too many times to be moved one way or another.

There's a part of us that wants to favor one reaction over the other, as if one were more healthy, more acceptable and appropriate. Maybe, but we've come to so love the broad continuum of "hard wiring" in all of them. Each are an essential part of the character of our household, and it's so good that we all, kids included, must wrestle with the fact that we're not like the other. We each have to wrestle with the fact that our make-up is not necessarily the preferred one or the best one. We each have to come to terms with releasing the notion that all must conform to be like us. We easily learn early on that others ought to be as we are, but the more difficult process is to learn that all should not be so and to love the astounding differences between us that must be present to complete a whole.

The easier ones are sometimes like Willow's, and the stretching ones are sometimes like Poppy's. Give us both, and everything in between. They're all needed, not just for their sakes but ours also.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Happy fourscore

and here's to so many more

Tonight to you honor

and champagne we pour

To give our due for

what's always been yours

That which you deflected

so others might soar

I suspect that

most are like me

We shudder to ponder

what life might be

If God had not given

to us so free

The splendor of you

for us all to see

We would not know

the bond of a sister

The eldest of which

would stand back to spur

Her brothers to glory

as you meekly transferred

Attention away

and to them you'd prefer

No, we would not know

the touch of a mother

That tender kiss

affection like none other

A word to the wise

and never a bother

To give of yourself

just like your (F)father

And we sure would not know

a faithful, dear friend

Whether golfing, or dining,

or praying to tend

The needs of them all

you condescend

That they all might flourish

and conversely ascend

Nor would we know

a caring grandma

Who always remembers

occasions of awe,

The grandchildren with you

never feel flawed

They'd rather be near

than ever withdraw

And Dad could not know

the sweetest of wife

Who always forgave

and served without strife

You freely sacrificed

some pleasures of life

To give to your husband

honor with rife

(I, suspect, that...)

If your parents were here

they'd know not a daughter

Who treasured them so

like a wellspring of water

Pure and refreshing

like a song from the Psalter

You'd bring them a smile

their heart not to falter

And so (Mom) we

hope

you surely realize

That you are influencing

o' so many of our lives

By just being you

we all seem to thrive

We're just that much better

with you by our sides

So happy fourscore

and so many more

Our wishes for you

and God we implore

To know without question

that you’re created for

The reflection of love

in Jesus we adore

We love you,