Pearls and Dreams
It's Mother's Day that tends to make me think of Legacies ... for my mom, it wasn't her mom that taught her about love and graciousness, and God. It was her mother's Aunt Nan. I had the privilege of knowing Aunt Nan. She was a wonderful lady who died when I was 15.
She spent every year from the time she turned 89, until she died, 2 weeks before her 98th birthday saying she wasn't going to see the next age.
"I'm not going to see 90, I'm going to go see Jesus this year!"
She finally got to go home at almost 98 years of age. I was devastated when she went home ... at 15, I couldn't understand what a privilge it was for her. I do now. We still have an afghan that she crocheted for my mother. I don't do any kind of needle work, sewing or any kind of crafting ...except ..that one stitch. I can do the afghan stitch that my Great Great Aunt Nan taught me how to do. Happy Mother's Day Aunt Nan, and thank you for teaching my mom what love was.
Her loving hands moved the yarn,
The needle going back and forth,
The verigated, earthtoned, threads,
Not everyone would see its worth.
From skeins of yarn in tight balls,
Spreads out with the love it shows,
The afghan keeps her legs warm,
Her heart warmed by the love she knows.
Mom's Great Aunt, whose love transcends,
From generation to generation,
Her crocheting hands remind us,
The kind of love that builds a nation.
The afghan is now slowly aging,
My mother washes it with love.
She remembers her Aunt fondly,
Now in heaven's glory above.
The afghan, beautiful and brown,
So warm and soft and cozy,
Snuggling under it's warmth,
Thoughts of Aunt Nan's heart, so rosy.
It's easy to remember,
The kindness of her sweet smile,
Feeling the love while reaching,
Through every year, across each mile.
Some day I hope to gain,
The afghan my mother treasures.
I knew and loved her Great Aunt, too.
Her love could never be measured.
If you took out each stitch,
And measured the time she took,
It wouldn't be enough to match,
The love she had in just one look.
The future,we don't know what holds,
But our past is knitted in care.
To remind us of her great love,
Our hearts will never be bare.
Someday I hope my mom gives me,
The love in the shape of the thread,
To warm not just my heart and soul,
But keep me warm inside my bed.
© Peggikaye Eagler