This day, sitting in our small living room, roused from rest, I determined to excuse myself to do something useful. I went to fetch my pens from my jacket pocket. Coming back, along our tiny hall, I lurched – smack into a picture on the wall.
Molly quickly rose to rescue me, forgive me, then clean up my mess of shattered glass and picture frame. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s a poem of mine. A friend did the calligraphy, and I framed it then.” And I, old man, had made a mess of it. “Stand back,” she said, “I’ll clean it up.” No chiding words. Her art piece on the floor. I, mortified. But she, all grace, put the lovely piece in my hands. Out of my repentance, I copy it here for you to see this loving work of my dear wife, put to artistic form by her friend: LET this frail soul sing! ALL life an offering THAT is attuned to thee. IS there, by grace, eternity WITHIN this frame? GIVE ME a song to live, PRAISE shall be my breath. HIS life my words, death. HOLY tempo, beating strong NAME divine, my joy, my song! m rouner So, out of crashing glass and broken frame, I pick up pieces and try to give you back the wondrous words of the one I love, as the Psalm touched her, long ago, and brings back, on this spattered day for us. These healing words that the Psalmist gave my own beloved singer of songs, with which to mend the broken things of this day, today. So may we all find hurt healed in these days of so many wounds around us. Love to you all, Arthur
2 Comments
Sissy ueland
7/26/2020 09:18:29 pm
Arthur-we thank God for your ability to write about and share so many aspects of your life, that help us deal with the many challenges in our own lives. What a gift Molly’s poem is to us. God uses it all for good in miraculous ways-we are so grateful. Thank you both for your faithful and loving ministry to us. Sissy &Sig Ueland
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Michael Adamovich
7/26/2020 11:06:41 pm
Molly lived the words of her poem, in her kindness to you, as she has in a lifetime filled with Light from Jesus. You know better than anyone, dear Arthur, that her poem was never just words under glass.
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March 2021
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