Monday, July 22, 2013


The past couple of weeks have been quite tender. We gathered together for my husband's family reunion, feeling sharply the loss of his sister, Arvilla. To pay tribute to her memory, we participated in a Relay for Life walk-a-thon to raise money for cancer research. We all wore yellow shirts in her honor, since that was her favorite color, and took turns walking around the track that night. It was a time of reflection and hope for those who may still fight this battle. It also managed to reopen our heart wounds a tiny bit.

During this same time frame, the mother of one of my closest friends passed away unexpectedly. I found myself grieving for the loss of this great woman, sharing my dear friend's sorrow as she copes with this difficult time. 

I have always found that writing things out helps me deal with painful emotions. So early one morning this past week, I composed the following poem, capturing what I may not be able to share any other way:

The mosaic of my soul lies tattered
Pieces of my heart have chipped away
With each loss inner tiles drift loose
Glue dissolving on pain-filled days.

How hard to be strong for others
When inner tiles slip from my reach
Most don’t comprehend this sorrow—
Save One who tried to teach.

He, alone, understands the heartache;
Counts every teardrop shed--
He paid for the pain I suffer
In unspoken agony He bled.

One by one, we all visit that Garden
Suffering invites us to softly kneel
To place our hand within His own
As He pays the price to heal.

Only then do we discern Eternal Love
Perceive the final cost;
Rising slowly to our feet
We know that all is not lost.

The strength to continue is granted
Inner glue renewed by humble desire
Refined we forge anew
Tiles sealed by the white hot fire.

The picture of our lives is not complete
Without tiles fashioned in hottest flame
And someday when all is restored—
We’ll be called by His sacred name.

Until then we press onward
Slipping our hand inside His own
Knowing we were never meant
To walk through infernos alone.

Cheri J. Crane
July 16, 2013