These thoughts have helped me deal with Mother's passing.
If life is good, Eternal life is better
For that’s where joy and peace go on and on
And who – by sorrow - would detain a loved one
From passing into that eternal dawn?
Shared by Sue Wong, Author unknown
Death for the Christian
(By Corrie Ten Boom)
(By Corrie Ten Boom)
A man and his son went over a long, narrow bridge. It was over a broad river, and the boy said, "Daddy, I am afraid. Do you see all that water down there?"
"Give me your hand, boy," the father said. The moment the boy felt his father's hand, he was not scared.
In the evening they had to go back again, and this time it was pitch dark. "Now I am more afraid than this morning!" the boy cried.
The father took the little fellow in his arms. Immediately the boy fell asleep, to awaken the next day in his own bed.
This is what death is like for the Christian. He falls asleep and wakes up at Home.
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"Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain.
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am the morning hush.
I am the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the star shine of the night.
I am the flowers that bloom.
I am in a quiet room.
I am the birds that sing.
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.".
Mary Frye, Baltimore MD, Circa 1933
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When we lose someone that we love
And the loss is too great to bear
Our friends are there to comfort us
To show they deeply care.
Yet in the very darkest hours
When no one is around
When saddened and so lonely
That's where God's love can be found.
Know that He is beside you
He has been there from the start
Just reach out and ask for help
He will heal your aching heart.
Ginny Bryant
Mother loved this painting by Danny Hahlbohm called "Home at Last."
Fran May is now at peace in her Eternal Home.
Post 4 of 6
All of these are so comforting (and so true)! I think my grandfather used to quote the first two lines of the Mary Frye poem.
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