PAYING IT FORWARD By Lori A Alicea

There’s been a flurry about the air these beginning weeks of November and we haven’t even seen our first snow fall.

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With endless lists to complete of gift giving, meal planning, and travel arrangements, we have stirred up a snowstorm of busyness and crowded the streets, the stores, and aisles of all kinds, and the weather of our holiday conquering isn’t letting up anytime soon.

With mere days until we families take our seat at the Thanksgiving table, I dared walking thru the doors of the local grocery store for last minute items on my part of the menu just yesterday, not dressing appropriately for those flurries inside.

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It was just a few days earlier when the weather was calm and quiet inside the Uptown coffee house where I regularly share a café mocha extra hot with a dear friend over conversation for two.

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With not a snowflake in sight, the still and quiet of the morning greeted me as I walked thru the doors and took my place in line; noticing my friend of over thirty years already seated at our familiar place by the window overlooking the streets of our town.

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Placing my café order and about to insert my debit card, the barista stopped me before I could as Thanksgiving came early from an unknown patron paying it forward to complete strangers for the duration I was sitting there and beyond.

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This unexpected kindness caught me off guard, and for the remainder of the day, my thoughts kept returning to a stranger who chose to slow down, notice and touch the smiling, the hurting, the unemployed, and the numb during a season we are meant to enjoy and celebrate, while some are just trying to get through.

Returning back to the snowstorm of buggies jammed up in traffic of the grocery store aisles, I thought of my sister and her family trying to get through their first Thanksgiving dinner with the empty seat of her husband and their father / grandfather pulling their heartstrings for another meal with him.

Did anyone slow down long enough in the grocery aisles to notice my sister’s heaviness of heart in the meat section struggling in her first attempts to find the turkey her husband used to select?

What about the other first-time widows or widowers?

What about those recently losing a child or job?

What about those with a newly discovered diagnosis?

Did anyone look up from their scribbled grocery list and notice these just getting thru the holidays and pay it forward with a smile, a comforting word from a stranger, or maybe even a swipe of their debit card for a customer who’s struggling at the register with insufficient funds.

Sometimes those paying it forward come when you least expect, yet at a time when you need it the most…

My sister Debbie in her own words.
 Today I decided to go shopping for Thanksgiving and get my turkey.

 This was the first time I ever bought a turkey without Andy.  Picking out the turkey, cooking it, and slicing it up, has always been his job.

 You think you are fine for the moment, but grief just creeps up on you out of nowhere.  I was fighting the tears, and my heart was getting heavy as I was trying to pick out a turkey.  I was just feeling lonely and alone.  I found what I was looking for and headed home.
 When I got home there was something waiting for me by my front door.  A fall flower arrangement from two dear people in my life; almost made me cry.

 Thank you both so much for loving and caring about me on a difficult day. 

 God ALWAYS knows.

 Somebody thought of and paid it forward to my sister and made a tangible difference in her Thanksgiving holiday.

During the snowstorms of November and December when the season might not be merry and bright for a complete stranger in the traffic jams of the grocery aisles, oh that we would notice and take off our mittens to be a hand of hope and pay it forward a joyous act of our kindness for someone struggling just trying to get thru.

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LONGINGS OF CHRISTMAS PAST By Lori A Alicea

The pages of my Christmas Past are written from the overflow of my thankfulness for what God has given in wrapped gifts of family and friends, of neighbors and acquaintances, of good times and yes, even hard times.

God is the bow and ribbon which ties up every good and perfect gift He has allowed and added to enlarge the borders of my heart for His glory.

I am a blessed woman because of a good and generous God, who has given me sixty-two Christmas’ thus far to celebrate, sixty-two Christmas trees to decorate with ornaments which tell the stories, the longings written from the pages of my Christmas past.

Years of history is on display at our house during the holiday season, yet one might not notice among the bright lights and fancy decorations set out in each room for a child’s delight during Christmas.

Sometimes it takes the little girl still living inside her adult self who remembers and re-counts the stories written so long ago, to give you the grand and wonderful tour of her Christmas pasts.

The centerpiece of our home growing up was always our mother, who gave her five daughters and one son the happiest and most memorable holidays a child could ever ask for.

We didn’t have much although we didn’t know it, because mother stretched Christmas and our memories for weeks with a freezer full of homemade cookies baked in our mother’s kitchen, greeting cards in the mail, tree decorating, children’s plays at church, visiting Santa, her homemade coffee cake served on Christmas morning and those few but specially picked presents we six kids couldn’t wait to open gathered around the tree.

As an adult now longing for her mother at Christmas, I set out her nativity scene and holiday lights every year to have a small reminder of the centerpiece who gave six children the best December’s to write about.

At the age of twenty-one and twenty-six I became a mother of two, and strived to create those Christmas’ my children would one day write about among the pages of their Christmas pasts.

A small tree is reserved for those ornaments my elementary age son and daughter created with their young hands to give as gifts and hide beneath the tree for this mother until Christmas morning.

There’s even a Santa ornament I made with my own elementary hands hanging on this miniature tree.

I delicately wrap each of these treasures individually to persevere the history of their childhood and will one day pass these ornaments on to them in their Christmas future.

Passed on to this adult granddaughter were a set of my grandmother’s vintage angel ornaments.

I was beyond grateful to have a piece of history I remember enjoying on my grandmother’s tree when we celebrated Christmas Eve for years at her house.

I long for those evenings with her and our grandfather, aunts, uncles and cousins celebrating the holidays together, though sadly, December 24th has never been the same since our grandparents stopped hosting our family tradition.

Then David and I became grandparents of eleven, with one getting ready to experience the joys of the holiday for the very first time this December, adding his picture to our grandchildren’s memory wall and all the trimmings of Christmas for him.

The longing for our ten grandchildren to be little again is an understatement, as somehow these ten have outgrown their holiday pajamas almost as quickly as they put them on.

The Christmas faces smiling at their grandparents are no longer babies, toddlers or young children.

They grew up behind our backs and in a hurry.

Our two youngest are six years of age now, our oldest is an adult and driving, there are two teenagers and two close enough: all grown up from those cherubs posing in their Christmas pajamas.

For a few years, my sisters and I added to the holiday stress of exchanging homemade Christmas crafts with each other.

There was a season when the cousins even began their homemade ornament exchange.

This tradition ended as all good things do, but these crafts from my sister’s hands are a treasure on my tree, although stirs a longing when sisters couldn’t wait for this wonderful reveal from Christmas pasts.

Displayed is a holiday tea set given to me by a dear friend as God’s reminder of friendships and the gift they are meant to be received.

Once every month, breakfast served with coffee and tea is scheduled among friends, my friends, in an intentional way to keep our love and friendship in full bloom with one another.

Time Spent Over Tea
By Lori A Alicea

A cup of tea among dear friends,
A place where memories start.
An afternoon of words exchanged,
Refreshment for the heart.

The music of the spoken word,
Could listen all day long.
When played, sweet life it does impart,
Creates a special song.

It may be just an afternoon,
Of time spent over tea.
But conversation shared with you,
            Means all the world to me.        

As much as the pages of my Christmas pasts are filled with great joy, there are those chapters stained with our tears from broken hearts over those we have loved in our good-byes to them.

Our family has become the intimate few from the crowded houseful we once knew and terribly miss when mother was still with us.

So many vacant seats now around the holiday table to remind us of those memorable Christmas’ we once knew as a family in mother’s home.

An ornament mother gave me hangs on my tree to remember her by.

Another ornament reminder from my stepmother Joyce.

The longings from Christmas pasts are stirred every year in these memory ornaments of my father, mother, sister Mary and Belinda and brother Mark.

I look at my sister Debbie’s ornament and am saddened of the pain which is still fresh from this summer good-bye of her husband Andy.

The emptiness and agony have been unbearable at times for our sister and their children and grandchildren.  We grieve for them in our prayers, text messages, telephone calls and time spent together.

Navigating Christmas is an hour-by-hour array of emotions this year.

My sister Debbie shares the same heart ache and pain with our niece Amy Lynn who has shed an ocean of tears over the most recent good-by of her husband Buzzy.

Amy Lynn and their son David are numb and without joy to decorate for Christmas this year.

As best as we can, our family wraps their arms around these two to bridge the miles which separate our long-distance lives.

This homemade nativity scene was created from Buzzy’s woodshed and now decorates my tree for which I’m beyond thankful to have a tangible piece of his heart.

Christmas present would not be complete without creating new traditions to fill in the voids and longings from Christmas past.

Giving our sister Debbie something to fill an empty heart with as well as sister and niece time for us, dinner is now being served once a month with each taking a turn to host a meal around their table.

I hosted dinner just the other day with comfort food our mother used to make.

This tradition of getting together has been a beautiful gift to open, especially during the holidays.

The past twenty-nine Christmas’s has been spent and shared with the love of my life, David.

He has been the gift I treasure most around the Christmas tree of my heart.

David is a gift I open every day we wake up together, and him coming home to me is the only gift on my Christmas list each day of the year.

I am most thankful to God for him.

The pages and chapters of my Christmas pasts are filled with an abundance of joy, of laughter, and even sorrow with many tears.

Yet, God is the bow and ribbon which ties up every good and perfect gift He has allowed and added to enlarge the borders of my heart for His glory.

A GOD WHO COLLECTS OUR TEARS By Lori A Alicea

There is a time for everything,
And a season for every activity under the heavens.

A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 NIV

Such is the season our family is walking with the recent good-bye of a cherished loved one in our lives.
For my sister longing the gentle embrace of the man who held her for forty-six glorious years, she weeps and though her…

Tears are just water and salt,
But a thimble full can feel oceans wide.

An excerpt from song…

God Loves You
By Chondra Pierce
With an ocean of tears standing before us, especially for my sister, her children and grandchildren, a family struggles to remember life on dry land.

There are those waves of the unexpected which overtake and have one gasping, struggling to reach the surface for another breath, when only minutes ago you were just enjoying the view.

It’s difficult to make peace with our new season of weeping and mourning, when the heart longs to laugh and dance like it used to.
You trust a loving God who already foretold from the beginning there’d be seasons and times for everything and every activity under the heavens.

While we wish our God handed out save-the-dates in matters of the heart; there must be an ongoing reminder in our calendar to prepare, to have oil in our lamp when the Lord shows up at our darkened-door of the unexpected.

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Every now and then God puts a song in my heart to sing, albeit in metered rhyme.

I dedicate these words to anyone bearing the weight of grief on their heart, especially my sister, as she navigates this season along a detoured path in an unknown forest from the road, a path where two people once traveled together only a few weeks ago.
A song to remind her she travels not alone…

A song to remind a travelling companion now holds the map for every step of the way in front of her…
Words to hold close and hold onto the guide who already knows the way as He is the Way…

A God who is ever present and close beside in her tears…

A GOD WHO COLLECTS OUR TEARS
By Lori A Alicea

Our hopes, our joys, and dreams we dare,
Our memories will keep.
Our heart, a home where love resides,
Which measures oceans deep.

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Our heart which captures every thought,
Those shared between just two.
And written in this secret place,
Their eyes can only view.

The years they share, their love is deep,
And lay the ocean floor.
Those treasures of their heart revealed,
When waves they wash ashore.

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The heart, a home where love resides,
And memories still grows.
Where dreams are shared and dared to take,
Whose heart the other knows.

But just as full in their hello,
The heart will leap and sigh.
The walls which keep their love secure,
Will break in their good-bye.

From deep one’s flowing love will weep,
And seep the oceans wall.
And from the windows of one’s soul,
Their tears begin to fall.

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In sorrow we are not alone,
Our God is ever near.
He sits beside us when we grieve,
Collecting every tear.

Recording in His book of us,
When tears our face they fall.
Our God is present when we cry,
Remembering them all.

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However long our heart must weep,
He’s sitting close beside.
As love was deep and heart was full,
And ocean’s arms were wide.

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The writings from their secret place,
Once shared, to view, recall.
The pain of mere remembering,
The gush, the waterfall.

 

 But every grief He’ll wipe away,
And dry our pain each trace.
But dare forget when ocean’s seeped,
In tears which streamed our face.

Our ever present God reminds,
Though weeping stays the night.
His joy will greet the grieving heart,
Awake by morning light.

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You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
Psalm 56:8 NLT

weeping may endure for a night,
But joy cometh in the morning.
Psalms 30:5 KJV

THE MAN BEHIND THE SHIRT  By Lori A Alicea

He wore a flannel shirt.

Not a three piece suit.

Not a crisp white shirt and a tie.

But at his home-going celebration,
My brother ‘n law Andy wore a baseball hat, blue jeans and a flannel shirt,
All befitting the simple man he embodied in life.

Remembering though…

There’s always another story.
There’s more than meets the eye.
W.H. Auden

 Unbeknownst to me who didn’t get the memo, family members young and old, prepared in advance and arrived at Andy’s Celebration of Life to honor their father, papa, uncle and friend, each dressed as Andy was dressed, sporting a flannel shirt.
A family honored the man behind the shirt.
Their outward expression for an inward love they each had known in the individual ways Andy shared his life with them.
Author and Speaker Dr. John A. Tetsola said it best from his book titled…
The Power of Honor

Honor means to value.
To value means to hold something or someone
In high regard and esteem in your heart and in your sight.
Family and flannel were mirrored reflections of the other through our tears, our smiles, our laughter and our joy in remembering Andy that day.
Not wanting the day to end in our good-byes…

As this signaled the continuation of our journey minus Andy’s presence behind the shirt…

At least for now on this side of heaven.
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But as I stated earlier…

There’s always another story.
There’s more than meets the eye.
W.H. Auden

Because it is written…

For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all.
Luke 8:17 NLT

Because in the days of going on and packing up of Andy’s office, the true man behind the flannel shirt was discovered and made known to all from the drawers and closet from which they were concealed; even to his wife.

While Andy was known as a God fearing man in the way he lived his life, the way he raised his children, loved his grandchildren, and submitted himself to the mandates of a Godly marriage.

A deeper version of the man behind the shirt was revealed through the binders and books of notes written from the pen of Andy’s hand, a student of the Word, searching and studying for more of Him, learning the ways and attributes of God.

It would have been so easy to take the outward appearance of Andy’s flannel shirt and honor the simple man which he was, yet overlooking the possibilities, the inner qualities one might be hiding in the secret place, as Andy did.

Yet, God’s love for us shines a bright light and sees our heart, our character, and who we truly are on the inside.

Nothing is overlooked.

…For the Lord sees not as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.
1 Samuel 16:7 AMP

What was done in secret was brought out into the open, with Andy preaching his life’s message, his final sermon spoken and passed into the hands of the generations ready to receive the hand-off of his legacy, ready to run their race set before them…

Seeking, searching, earnestly looking for more of God,

Who promises to find us in this pursuit.

I love those who love me,
and those who seek me find me.
Proverbs 8:17 NIV

How interesting though,

To know the son, you’ve known the father, both students of the Word.

Like father, like son.

Two ”seeking” men behind the shirt.

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CELEBRATING ANDY, and the Work of His Hands  By Lori A Alicea

In the Bible it is written in Romans 13:7 ESV…
Give honor to whom honor is due.

I find such a man in my brother Andy, whom honor is greatly due him.

This was an unexpected honor for me when my sister Debbie asked if I’d be willing to celebrate her husband’s life in words, because as far as I could remember, our brother Mark has always been the official family spokesperson at times like these.

Even as Mark and Andy are heavenly neighbors now, I somehow feel Mark’s presence still, prepared to take his rightful place at this podium.

But yet I’m here instead, privileged to deliver the words God wants to comfort us with while Celebrating Andy.IMG_6541

They say that the hearing is the last to go and if Andy could hear my name being called to the stage today, he’d be jolted and startled for a second with these words, “Copy that???”

Today is a bittersweet day to be together, locking arms and hearts together as we navigate this maiden voyage of uncharted waters without our Andy.

This small setting has all the “feels” of our family holiday dinners; the holiday being the celebration of our Handy Andy, our Hunny Bunny, our Papa, our Dad, our Brother ‘n law.

But as beautiful as this table set before us is, it’s hard not to notice the empty chair once occupied by Andy.

Rumor has it that Andy chose instead to attend a heavenly grand reunion in his honor…Greek translation…rude.

I wish I had a front row seat to the Houle section in the banquet room of heaven.

Surely, there is a senior table for our family pillars, Mom and Roger, Bill and Gloria and Bon Bon, with Dad and Joyce waving from their table nearby.

Surely, there’s a table where Andy has taken his rightful place seated next to Belinda, Mark and Mary. I can almost see Mark high fiving Andy – “Bro – you made it.” I have no doubt Belinda has a left a goody bag of jelly beans on Andy’s plate, and Mary, she sits and laughs as she takes it all in.

Mom is beaming with great joy to see her sidekick back at the card table and the entire family cheers for this grand reunion they’ve been waiting for.

Yes, it is an honor to Celebrate Andy’s life.

The book-ends of anyone’s life are their birth certificate and their obituary.

Held together by these book-ends are the volumes of details, the memories, the moments, the trials and victories of our beloved’s life.

Let’s begin by reading the final book-end of Andy’s life.

Andrew Hritz, age 66 of Valparaiso, IN passed away July 12, 2023.

He was born on Sept 15, 1956 to the late Michael and Pauline Hritz in Gary, IN.

On March 5, 1977, Andrew married the love of his life Deborah Houle in Valparaiso, IN. Andrew enjoyed reading, making homemade ice cream and eggnog, but most of all he loved spending time with his wife, children and grandchildren.wedding andy deb

Andrew was talented with his hands; his nickname was Handy Andy and if he did the job well his wife called him Honey Bunny.

Andrew will be remembered as a loving husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle and friend and he will be deeply missed.

Andrew is survived by his loving wife of 46 years, Deborah Hritz of Valparaiso, son, Phillip (Mandie Fusner) Hritz, Amanda (Jordan) Mayfield of Argos, IN,

Four grandchildren, Kollin and Zachary Hritz, Gracie and Luke Mayfield;

Four brothers Michael, Bill, John and Paul Hritz and many other loving family members.
Andrew was proceed in death by his father, Michael Hritz and his mother Pauline.

When you open up the book between the book-ends of Andy’s life, the first page begins with a shortened stanza from an old song we used to sing sitting on the pews of our Southern Baptist church as kids…

GREAT IS THY FAITHFULNESS…

All I have needed thy hand hath provided…
Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

From beginning to end, Andy’s life reflected God’s faithfulness as he learned to trust and never let go of God’s hand for every need and provision for his wife, children, grandchildren, employment and extended family.

Andy had a life verse whether he realized it or not, and this verse was once prophesied over him proving to be a true word from our Creator…

God will bless the work of your hands…
Deuteronomy 28:12

I looked up the meaning of this verse and it reads as follows: God has destined that our hands be empowered to accomplish great things and will be sufficient for you.

There’s a quote from the website of once evangelist Billy Graham which speaks to and exemplifies the life of our dear Andy:

The Greatest legacy one can pass onto one’s children and grandchildren is not money or other material things accumulating in one’s life, but rather a legacy of character and faith.

Yes, character and faith through Andy’s hands would become his legacy…

HERE IS A SMALL TRIBUTE TO THAT LEGACY.

From his hand and heart, Andy waved the white flag of surrender in salvation to God.

Andy gave his hand in marriage to one woman for 46 glorious years, as he loved her, cherished her, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health all the days of his life.
Handy Andy hung galleries of Debbie’s Board and Brush pictures with his hands, defying physics and logic and preventing a house implosion from the sum of its weight.
Andy was always game for a hand of cards – albeit Rummy, UNO, Yahtzee, or Pinnacle against Denise, Brad, Jill and mom, showing no mercy to either of them.

Uncle Drew held out his hand and scooped up the small nieces and nephews whenever they reached for his lap.

Game shark Andy showed no hand of mercy either while playing Chutes and Ladder, Candy Land, and Mother Love with his daughter Amanda and niece Candace when they were just learning to play.

Uncle Drew’s hands walked my young daughter to elementary school when she was afraid of the neighborhood dogs.

Daddy Andy held his daughter’s hand while learning to walk on tippy toes as a toddler. He held her hand as they walked together to the altar during her Honor Star service, and most proudly, Amanda’s father held tight to his daughter’s hand as she walked her wedding isle as a beautiful bride.

With books in their hands, a father and his son Phillip treasured the words written about God, exchanging their discoveries and truth about prophecy, and End – Times. They also bonded as guys do in the garage around tools, cars and grease.
Uncle Drew’s hands wrestled through the ages of my young to my grown-up son Jake on his lap, once conning his nephew to pull out a pair of skid marked whitey-tightys from his Christmas gift as a joke for the giver– a legendary memory of laughter for us all.

Son ’n law Andy with his hands helped our mother by fixing her car, hanging pictures on her walls, sharing coffee and a seat around the table, and whatever he possibly could do to harass her.

Andy’s hands were the official carver of the holiday turkey and ham; whose place at the stove rang the silent dinner bell for everyone to take their seats at the kid’s table, senior table, adult table or any place you could find on the floor as dinner was almost served.

You wouldn’t know about them unless Andy felt led to show you, but Andy kept a library of hand written notes and diagrams pertaining to his job description throughout those 30+ years on the clock, a trophy recognizing his pursuit of excellence unto his Almighty God at work.

His hands as an employee carried a cooler/lunch pail so big and jammed pack of food, someone taking a picture might think he was toting the refrigerator to his job.

Andy’s hands clapped the loudest from the heart of the most proud Papa for his sweet Gracie during her dance and piano recitals.

Andy’s hands held and shared a fleet of trucks and cars with his little Lukie who loved and treasured this one-on-one Papa time with him.

Papa’s hands shared the hearts of his grandchildren Gracie and Lukie with Carla, Deb and well, ok…Dave, their other grandparents equally in love with them.

Don’t get me started on the hilarious sight of Andy with giant Old Maid cards in his hand and a game against granddaughter Gracie, nieces Ayva and Aubrey and their giggles to give him the Old Maid for the win.

Chef Andy’s hands concocted and shared the most delicious homemade eggnog with his daughter Mandie Renee at Christmas. But truth be told, Andy shared a cup of her stash with David and I this past Christmas.

A father ‘n law’s hands stood and saluted on the inside with the utmost respect and pride for his military son, a man of honor who lives for God, Family, Country and Flag; and in that order.

Papa Andy’s hands shared a bucket of popcorn for years with his son Phillip, his grandsons Kollin and Zachary and nephew Ethan tagging along to watch those action-packed movies at the theater. A wrestling match against old and young took place most nights during their time together.

It was a given for Andy’s hands to serve and share a cup of coffee with David and me whenever we visited, ensuring a carton of our favorite cream was bought in advance.

Andy might have been a man few of words, even though this Queen of Questions standing here tried to pry a few sentence over the years, but his servant’s hands spoke volumes for themselves.
Andy and Debbie weren’t travelers and the farthest they’d ever drive was to the nearest Walmart. But when the car doors opened from our military family, and from our southern drawl families from Tennessee and Texas, rest assured Uncle Drew welcomed you with those Andy-hugs he was famous for. Rest assured Andy made the draft cut into the Special Forces which thrived to bother, aggravate and stir up trouble as guys love to do. Rest assured his nieces and nephews found a seat at the table near their Uncle Drew, making up for lost time of love and laughter with him. Andy had a hand in being present for those long distant relationship reunions.

Andy also had a hand in being present in his quiet relationships at church, and through our special events when extended families join together in celebration.

Our sister Denise’s best friend Jill had two small children in need of a babysitter so Debbie and Andy opened their home for babysitting, while also watching my two. They became Aunt and Uncle to Julie and JT who loved them as their own. Our family adopted these two as well into their hearts. Julie and JT’s pictures filled up Aunt Debbie’s library of scrapbooks, they each had a seat along with their extended family at our gatherings, their names found themselves on every guest list of ours, became part of the cousin generation, their branches grew and became off-shoots from our family tree, and we can’t imagine life without them, all because Debbie and Andy opened their hearts and home to them.

Brother ‘n law Andy extended a hand of hope to me as a single woman, receiving my small children during the middle of the night and putting them to bed as I went off to work. Rules were meant to be broken when Debbie wasn’t around, and Uncle Drew became Mr. Fun, pulling out all the stops of entertainment while I worked the other shifts. Loving my kids to life during this most difficult season for them, Debbie and Andy bonded with my little boy and girl as second parents.
Andy’s hands touched others beyond his knowledge.

We each have a ripple effect, touching others beyond our reach, beyond our life’s stone cast across the water into ripples on a pond.

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Through his wife’s pictures on social media, Andy was known at the city gates as a family man, a papa on adventure with his grand-kids, a father whose hands held the hearts of his children close, a husband who understood covenant in marriage; a rare find of gold mined from a man’s life these days.

Though a man of few words, Andy had a message and it was preached through the ripple effect of his life’s stone cast across the water into ripples on a pond.

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 Andy’s hands were never idle… earning his infamous title of Handy Andy.

His hands drew from the well of “acts of service”, the language of love he spoke to his family.

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From his hands he gave back to God what was due him in tithes and offerings, in prayer, in time and talent and Sunday mornings with Him.

Hand and in hand along the Riverwalk of their life together, Andy enjoyed the most wonderful year of retirement with his bride. A year of bike rides, pancake breakfasts, Dairy Queen trips and Walmart shopping sprees to name a few.

Their final night together, husband Andy held the hand from the wife of his youth while sharing his devotion and love to her; they both fell asleep this way. A framed moment his wife of 46 years will forever hang from her heart.

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Yes, God truly blessed the love and life of Andy’s hands.

Andy and Debbie’s faithfulness to God, their children and grandchildren will be a legacy passed on through the generations. The fruit of their faithfulness is evident and measured in the bushel basket-fulls of their family.

Amanda, the God-fearing woman she’s been throughout her life of forty years without waver is now mirrored in the worshiper we see in her daughter Gracie. Her son Lukie stands on a stage all his own, enjoying life and passionate around a race track of cars and trucks, making room one day for his calling in life.

Phillip, though man of few words as his father, has a hunger in his pursuit for Jesus which has been evident in him wanting his grandmother’s books centered around Christian living from her library as his inheritance. Phillip’s son Kollin is equally as quiet and has a presence about him in his respect and kindness for others. Phillip’s other son Zachary has this zest for life and humor like his Papa, causing hilarious trouble while drawing others unto himself.

Debbie and Andy have lived out the scriptures charged to them as parents…

We will not hide them from their descendants; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the Lord.
Psalm 78:4 NIV

To pass the baton of faith, you must first possess it in your hand.
For a smooth hand-off in the relay of life, you need a firm grip on the baton of faith and an intentional effort to place it in the hand of the next generation; as Andy and Debbie have.

Surely Andy has already heard these words of affirmation from the Heavenly Father,

Well done, good and faithful servant…
Matthew 25:21

Andy’s address has changed.

He now lives and breathes in a perfect place with God while we attempt to process his absence here on earth; a momentary separation until our name is called and we are reunited with him once again.

BUT HERE WE ARE; WE GRIEVE.
Everybody grieves.

Yes, everybody grieves.

But everybody grieves differently, and in their own way.
Some grieve outwardly, visible through the rainfall of their tears.

Some grieve inwardly, as if a dam holds back the streams of their pain, yet breaks through in the flow of their written words or song.

There is no measuring stick to gauge one’s grief,

But you grieve nevertheless.

Grief is a painting of a thousand words.
We find ourselves consoled in the brushstrokes from those who understand.

We take comfort in the sunsets that calm our weariness.

Photo by Nathan Cowley on Pexels.com


Just as the morning dew weeps over the spring flowers, we also are given permission to weep.

Photo by Anna Nekrashevich on Pexels.com

Jesus himself wept in grief over a dear friend who died.

Jesus wept.
John 11:35 NIV

This portrait of grief is an open book of our heart where its pages are stained from runaway tears, yet caught by the hands of a loving God who notices and stores them in a bottle, recording these raindrops of pain in His Book of Remembrance.

You’ve stored my many tears in your bottle
not one will be lost.
For they are all recorded
In your book of remembrance.
Psalms 56:8 (TPT)

This portrait of a thousand words hangs in our personal gallery titled,
A Family says Good-bye.”
This season of showers of our tears,

Whether flowing from the windows of our heart or soul,

Our tears water a great hope of a family reunion one day, in heaven.

From each shower,

A “rainbow in full view” of the open sky reminds us of the nearness of God.
These April showers bring forth May flowers of joy, because in God:

Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy cometh in the morning.
Psalm 30:5 (KJV)

The season of grief most difficult,

The season which wrestles and fights to hold onto your heartstrings,

Yet a season you must find His perfect peace,

The season of letting go.

In our letting go,

We are letting God…

Sit with us beside the empty chair.

Be that telephone call when we long for theirs.

Be a song when we miss their voice.

Be an arm of comfort in the middle of the night.

Give us eyes to see our family portrait still complete.

Be a father to the fatherless.

Be a husband to the widow.

Be a friend to the friendless.

Lead us beside still waters.

Photo by Manuela Adler on Pexels.com

Be everything;

Whatever everything needs to be.

Going forward, that first birthday, first holiday, first wedding anniversary and first Father’s Day without Andy will be honored and grieved differently by each who loved him, though grieved nevertheless.

God wipes our tears when they fall outwardly.

God will be those words or song when we weep from the inside.

God will be a faithful post to lean on when the weight of our heartache is far too great a burden to shoulder and stand alone.

In our letting go,

We are letting God.

We’ll get there when we get there.

In time…in time

AND NOW WE SAY GOOD-BYE

Saying good-by to Andy is most difficult; the pain unbearable at times.

The “changing of the guard” is simultaneously taking place in multiple homes of our family, causing hearts to short-circuit from the emotional overload of sadness, yet rejoicing as our Andy has just seen Jesus.

As the season of summer is about to place the baton in the hand of its neighbor called fall, closing up swimming pools and beaches in exchange for cozy sweaters and campfires, our family is in their lane and in position for the hand-off and good-bye to a husband, father, papa and friend in Andy.

Good-bye is our book-end to hello.

A shelf of memories stacked between each book-end, keeping each scrapbook firmly placed between so many years of good-byes and hello.

While our good-byes can stir up a whirlwind of joy as does its partner of hello, it’s just embracing the vision of the hello when “letting go” in our good-bye causes so much emotion.

While the shades of good-bye vary as the colors in the rainbow, good-bye nevertheless requires an exchange of the baton in our heart.

Before an unexpected good-by, Andy looked at the “love of his life” for the very last time; yet didn’t realize it.

You never saw one without the other.

Still high school sweethearts into their golden years, the glow of their faces while looking into each other’s eyes alone could fill up the pages of a romance novel.
For the first day in their marriage lifetime just a few days ago, Andy’s wife woke up to the sunrise of sadness, sensing the vacancy on his side of the bed, sitting at the breakfast table with his empty coffee cup and empty seat in front of her, void of his bright smile that didn’t greet her good-morning.

Yet, in the pain of their good-bye on this earth, Debbie’s Honey Bunny said hello to the other love of his life, the one he gave his heart to and waited a lifetime to spend eternity with, his Lord and Savior.

Debbie’s Hunny Bunny still retains his bright smile he was known for, yet he brightens up our hearts now, while leaving the world a bit dimmer.
Good-bye is our book-end to hello.

One sad good-bye is a glorious hello to someone else.

We were never meant to hold on to anything; the moments, life as we know it, each other.

Life is a daily letting go so that in our letting go, we can “Let God” have His way in us.

Good-bye might not be the hello we want to embrace,

But be willing to stay in your lane,

Get in position for the handoff of the baton,

And continue to run the race set before you.

As Good-bye is always our hello to the next step, the new beginning,

Of something wonderful God wants to do thru us.

We love you Andy. We love you Uncle Drew. We love you dad.

We love you Papa. She loves you Hunny Bunny.
Until that grand reunion in heaven, we will all miss you like crazy.

LETTING GOD  By Lori A Alicea

Everybody grieves.

Yes, everybody grieves.

But everybody grieves differently, and in their own way.

Some grieve outwardly, visible through the rainfall of their tears.ayva crying with blanket

Some grieve inwardly, as if a dam holds back the streams of their pain, yet breaks through in the flow of their written words or song.

There is no measuring stick to gauge one’s grief,

But you grieve nevertheless.

Grief is a painting of a thousand words.

We find ourselves consoled in the brushstrokes from those who understand.
5164EEED-DA8A-4BD5-BD69-528D5A4C880D
We take comfort in the sunsets that calm our weariness.D20E4C50-9289-4D13-A92F-9C91272E4D79

As the morning dew weeps over the spring flowers,
we also are given permission to weep.

water dew on dandelions
Photo by Anthony on Pexels.com

Jesus himself wept in grief over a dear friend who died.

Jesus wept.
John 11:35 NIV

This portrait of grief is an open book of our heart where its pages are stained from runaway tears, yet caught by the hands of a loving God who notices and stores them in a bottle, recording these raindrops of pain in His Book of Remembrance.

You’ve stored my many tears in your bottle
not one will be lost.
For they are all recorded
In your book of remembrance.
Psalms 56:8 (TPT)

high angle shot of an open book
Photo by Olya Kobruseva on Pexels.com

This portrait of a thousand words has been hanging in our personal gallery over the last eleven months as a tribute to us in our season of showers titled,

A Family’s Ten Good-byes.”

On September 20, 2020 the angels of heaven came for our mother, our pillar, matriarch and heart of the family.
funeral a goodby neese jake david looking at casket
Her loss on our plate would have been a full plate to grieve over this past year. But there would be nine more good-byes added to an already full plate.

On my side, we lost my mother, brother and papa.

On my husband’s side, we lost two brothers, a papa and two cousins.

Together, we lost two dear friends from church.

Yes, ten good-byes in eleven months, each farewell unique, each remembering a life well lived.

This season of showers,

Whether flowing outward from the windows of our soul or inward from the depths of our heart,
Our tears watered a great reminder of a family reunion one day, in heaven.

From each shower,
A “rainbow in full view” nestled in the open sky whispering the nearness of God.2019 houle mark and connie rainbow

These April showers brought forth May flowers of joy, because in God:

Weeping may endure for a night,
But joy cometh in the morning.
Psalm 30:5 (KJV)E82E7320-64BF-44A8-8420-0A8D90AC827A

The season of grief most difficult,
The season which wrestles and fights to hold onto your heartstrings,
Yet a season you must find His perfect peace in,
Our season of healing,
Our season of letting go.

In our letting go,
We are letting God…

Sit with us beside the empty chair.
empty chair TABLE Mom Picture Sweater
Be that telephone call when we long for theirs.
2018 ayva on phone
Be a song when we miss their voice.
Be an arm of comfort in the middle of the night.USE older younger rosalee kizzie 2

Give us eyes to see our family portrait still complete, while their picture now hangs in our heart.party guests - moms family

Be a father to the fatherless.
Be a husband to the widow.
Be a friend to the friendless.

Lead us beside still waters.

KIZZIE ROSALEE holding hands water keep

Be our everything;
Whatever everything needs to be.

September 20, 2021 will mark a family’s one year anniversary of their mother’s good-bye.
debbie casket
Her first birthday, first holidays, first anniversary and first Mother’s Day without our matriarch has been honored and grieved differently by each who loved her, though grieved nevertheless.

God has wiped our tears when they’ve fallen outwardly.

God has been those words or song when we wept from the inside.

For the nine farewells which followed our mother’s, God has been a faithful post to lean on when the weight of our heartache was far too great a burden to shoulder and stand alone.25th anniversary - worship song

In our letting go,
We’ve been letting God.

We’ll get there when we get there.

In time…in time.

round silver colored pocket watch and eyeglasses on opened book
Photo by Wallace Chuck on Pexels.com

SO MANY GOOD-BYES By Lori A Alicea

A quiet morning sitting along the shoreline beach of Hawaii, a picturesque view where my six-year old granddaughter feeds the waves with sand food served from a menu of her imagination; an hour of calm for me as the ocean soothes the soles of my weary feet with every wave that crashes up against them.
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Sometimes the weight of heavy burdens takes its toll on our feet which does its best to keep us standing strong, as burdens though were never meant to be carried.  But every now and then God sits his children down beside the shores of cool water and allows the singing and washing of the waves minister gently to our tired spirit.

It’s been a year like no other; adding the weight of the recent month just passed of so many good-byes, so many tears poured out remembering another loved one.  A mother…a brother ‘n law and now a brother. Navigating grief that maiden year of so many “firsts” presents itself without a map which adds to the pain.   Magnify that voyage times three and your shoulders buckle under weight of heartache.  

I once read that…

Grief never ends…but it changes.
It’s a passage not a place to stay.
Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith..
It is the price of love.
Author Unknown.

Better to love than never love at all;
Remembering the price of love will one day be paid in our parting good-bye.

The price of love recently expressed from my brother’s wife…
IMG_0624

How I miss you baby.
The flesh in me just wants you back for one more kiss, 
One more hug and one more I love you.

I feel so empty, but after 46 years with this beautiful man, how else could I feel.
Until we meet again baby, I will carry you in my heart forever.

You made my life complete.
Love you and miss you so much.

Your wife…

This trip to Hawaii was an unexpected one for me; a trip actually scheduled for someone else.  But plans changed; life’s wisdom to always have a bag packed when God’s calendar reveals a secret.

Accompanying my granddaughter home after a three week stay with family came as I gift God knew I needed; while His reasons have yet to be unveiled.  
IMG_2918

Though a ten hour flight and a five hour time difference, all these good-byes can’t be abandoned in baggage claim.

The luggage of our heavy hearts must be unpacked.

We must be willing to open the luggage of our good-bye, hold what’s inside, savor the moments and in time unique to each, be willing to put away our bags, and leave the intersection of Holding On and step into the street of Moving Forward.

But as my Father sits beside the shores of cool water with me and allows the singing and washing of waves to minister to my tired spirit.

I hear Him gently reminding me…

Be willing with…

One moment at a time… 
One breath at a time…
One step at a time…
One memory at a time…

and 

Let Him shoulder the rest.

MOTHERS LOVE, When it Hurts  By Lori A Alicea

Buried in the fine print of loving others,
Spells out the risks we take when giving our hearts away…

In parenting…
In friendships…
In families…
In marriage…

That to be a parent, a friend, a family member, or spouse,

We’re vulnerable to
The “what if’s”,
The risks,

When sharing a piece of our heart with another.

While playing my hand safe in most areas of my life, I’ve always taken the risk and jumped off the deep end into relationships, giving the best of me while learning to swim when I found myself in waters way over my head.

Looking for a lifeline when a twenty-one year old version of myself, rocks her first child in the middle of the night. A newborn helpless and dependent on me for everything, I had to get this mothering thing right for his sake and for my daughter who is born to us five years later.

21 CANDY JAKE 010

In over my head I’d risk it all for two children who’d be waving me good-by in eighteen years for a life of their own.
a family cumbee family2019 england jake graduation 20

Mother’s don’t read the fine print of parenting; she willingly risks the tears of her heart through her children’s scrapes, their falls, their fails, their challenges, their growing up, and yes, their leaving because:

Mothers love when it hurts.

My mother loved this way six times over through the lives of her son and five beautiful daughters.

In over her head and floundering for a lifeline, a sixteen year old mother pacifies her newborn son in the midnight hour.

A mother, in some ways still a child herself; starts swimming the best way she knows how to stay afloat, risking it all by giving all of herself to a child surviving in the life preserver of his mother’s arms.

Back in the lonely days of early child-rearing, there wasn’t a village to assist my mother and her young son and soon to be five daughters who’d be born within a year or two between themselves.

Easter with siblings and outfits

Diapers weren’t disposable, and babysitters weren’t affordable. Mother leaned on God for inner strength while she flailed in the deep waters of parenting. Without sisters or the helping arms of an overworked and young husband himself, mother sowed the remains of her teenage years into the garden of her children, cultivating them in the admonition of the Lord.

A woman who gave all didn’t read the fine print of mothering; she willingly risked the tears of her heart through her children’s scrapes, their falls, their fails, their challenges, their growing up, and yes, their leaving for lives of their own because:
siblings family photo (2)Mothers love when it hurts.

Buried in the fine print of loving others,

We’re vulnerable to
The “what if’s”,
The risks,

When sharing a piece of our heart with another.

Mother faced
The risk,
The “what if”

My child leaves me for Jesus,
While I’m still alive to face this painful good-by.

Mother attended the funeral for two of her young adult daughters,

siblings belinda mary

Mary's Headstonedavid at gravesideWho left behind children of their own in their leaving.
funeral 2siblings mary christina brittany
“Mother’s should never have to bury their children”,
My mother lamented.

Grief hovered as a dark cloud over my mother’s life for years until sunshine broke through in her daughter’s memories.

My mother gave her heart away because;

Mothers love when it hurts.

Sunday, May 9, 2021 this daughter will celebrate the first Mother’s Day without her mother.

Mother’s Day crosses another milestone of firsts that we as her remaining family, navigate life through the maiden year without our matriarch.

Love hurts in good-by.
a flowersa family alicea family
Love hurts in the empty seat.

empty chair TABLE Mom Picture Sweater

Love hurts in the conversations you long to have.

IMG_7107

Love hurts in the empty arms.
mom and grandkids USE
Love hurts at her graveside.

mom's headstone

But grief which lingers as a dark cloud will one day be clear skies when sunshine breaks in our mother’s memories.
IMG_9345Always finding comfort, peace and joy in our loving God,

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
And saves the crushed in spirit.
Psalm 34:18

Yes, love hurts.

But…

“Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.”
Alfred Lord Tennyson

A TIME TO GO ON… By Lori A Alicea

1There is a time for everything
And a season for every activity under heaven.
2A time to be born and a time to die….
4A time to weep and a time to laugh.
4A time to mourn and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 2, 4

Time is artistically painted on the canvases of our lives, expressed in the brushstrokes of the valleys and mountain tops we experience.

The valleys and mountains each are majestic from their view and unique perspective, both offering challenges and struggles yet delighting the eye from the artist’s layers of color and intricate detail, regardless the compass direction our faces must turn to soak in its wonder based on our foots position.

Mountains are tall and strong, fully alive calling those in the valley to come forth, to begin their ascent to the mountain’s highest peak, its summit, a holy place where God often encounters His people.

God spoke to Moses from a burning bush on Mount Horeb.

God tested Abraham’s heart on Mount Moriah and sent an angel to stay Abraham’s hand before sacrificing his son Isaac.

God wants to encounter us in the high places, sending us changed as we make our descent down the mountain, to then encounter other lost and broken hearts for the Kingdom.

Valleys are low places book-ended between vast mountains. Valleys are a place of rest with God along green pastures beside the quiet rivers running through; a safe place where the Shepherd’s rod and staff comforts even in the shadow of death. It is in the valley experience where we learn to trust a good and faithful God, a place of dependence giving Him permission to restore our soul.

(Psalm 23 NIV)

1There is a time for everything
And a season for every activity under heaven.
2A time to be born and a time to die….
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 2

On Sunday, September 20, 2020 God chose this day to be the last day for our mother’s life this side of eternity.

a goodby hands

At 9:52 pm our mother entered the gates of heaven, falling into the Lord’s embrace for the first time on the other side of eternity.

As a family we rejoice as our mother received her eternal reward, yet must now reconcile God’s truth in our hearts,

There is a time to be born, and a time to die…”
Ecclesiastes 3:2

a goodby neese jake david looking at casket

a goodby cumbee

a goodby jay and jill
debbie and andy
amy david
barb

Though undeniably a families heartbreaking loss, might our hearts be somewhat comforted and quieted as innocent children like our sweet granddaughter Ayva who understands from the simple pages of a child’s book written from her view in the valley, “Grandma is now with Jesus.”

a goodby ayva looking at grandma (2)
Ayva doesn’t fear because she knows and trusts this same Jesus to comfort her by the quiet waters along the green pastures she sits.

1There is a time for everything
And a season for every activity under heaven.
Ecclesiastes 3:1

There is a time to say good-by.

a graveside burial hearst USE
burial 1 USE
a graveside candace and girls USE
a graveside casket 1
There is a time to be comforted in good-by…

a graveside debbie and kids
There is a time to touch one last time in good-by…

a graveside burial jake casket
jordan casket
debbie casket
1
There is a time for everything
And a season for every activity under heaven.
2A time to be born and a time to die….
4A time to weep and a time to laugh.
4A time to mourn and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 2, 4

And a Time to Go On…

On Sunday, September 20, 2020 at 9:52 pm our mother left us, but at 9:53 pm that same evening, the second hand of time continued to make its way around the clock, signaling that Time Must Go On.

Probably the most difficult about saying good-by is embracing the
valley back to the mountain experience” of
going on.

Though paralyzed in grief, traffic doesn’t pull over for the grieving.

Flags aren’t lowered to honor the heartbroken.

The heartbeat of time never flat lines.

The rhythm of life continues to breathe in and breathe out.

There is a time for everything,

There is a time to go on.

September 20, 2020 is a mile marker we find ourselves looking back in the rear view mirror from. Trying to go on, yet the rear view mirror of our mother’s life calls us to reflect back, to remember, to want another moment with her, to maybe deny that she ever left.

The most painful realization of this September 20th mile marker for me is the silent telephone and not hearing my mother’s voice on the other line anymore when I call. Our time together was usually at night or especially during my 45 minute ride home after Life Group on Tuesday nights from church. Mother kept me company along the dark roads until I was safe behind closed doors again.  In the silence of my car ride alone, I’ve tried to listen to my mother’s gospel music she used to have playing in the house.  But credited to my heart’s sadness, could barely get thru a single song.

The countless times I’ve searched my contact list to see mother’s number still saved on my phone; I don’t have the heart to delete a disconnected number, especially my mother’s. On occasion I have dialed for another conversation with my mother, hoping for a miracle she’d find the time to take my call in heaven.

I am already feeling the weight of the upcoming holidays on the vacancy of my heart.  Her empty seat at the table will require God’s presence to overcome the loss of hers.

Navigating the “firsts” of the next twelve months without my mother can be unbearable unless I find a place to rest among the green pastures of the valley, to surrender to the still waters where my Jesus can restore my soul.

In time, we must laugh again.
We must dance again.
Yes, there will be tears.
Yes there will be mourning.
There is a time for everything,
And yes,

There is a Time to Go On.

The mountains, tall and majestic and fully alive are calling those in the valley to look up and come forth, to begin their ascent to the mountain’s highest peak, its summit, a holy place where God wants to encounter His people.

There is a time for everything,
And as for me, a time to write again.

a family gaga and ayva and aubrey

There is a time to remember what God has done, what God has given, what God has blessed.  A time to remember a mother who gave us life;
A praying mother who introduced her six children to Jesus.

a family our names

There is a time for everything…

A time to remember.

Just the other day while driving with my three year old granddaughter Aubrey in her car seat, she looked from her window and screamed with excitement,

Oh look Gaga, there’s grandma’s house.”

How did a three year old remember this view from just a few weeks ago?

a graveside burial cemeteryWe will never forget you mother.

a gravesideburial headstone

Yes, we will look from time to time the rear-view mirror to remember all that you were to us.

Your family will never forget…

No matter that Time, With or Without Our Permission, Must Go On. Continue reading A TIME TO GO ON… By Lori A Alicea

THEIR LIGHT STILL SHINES By Lori A Alicea

A Sympathy Card

For those who lost…

A husband, a wife,
A brother, a sister,
A friend, a son, a daughter,
A mother, father, aunt or uncle, cousin,
A classmate, a co-worker, a neighbor,
A stranger you noticed every day,
Any one you shared life with,

But lost during this pandemic year of 2020.

These expressed words are my condolences
To your family that they might bring comfort
In your most difficult hour.

Love bridges the miles that separate us.
Love knows no stranger.
Love reaches out to those who hurt.

I’m reaching out a stranger,
While reaching out a friend.
To fill your grieving cup,
With hope, with promise.

To extend an arm of comfort,
To lift you up during a time
When the unimaginable weight of your loss
Is too much to bear alone.

My sympathy’s in your hour of great need…

Might you be blanketed…
Might you be surrounded…
With “the peace
That passeth all understanding.”

THEIR LIGHT STILL SHINES
By Lori A Alicea

Each light, a life, a name held close,
Burns bright their memory.
In silence we remember those,
Called home to be with Thee.

The brilliance of so many names,
A darkened night broke through.
Appears a starry sky but yet,
My eyes see only you.

lighted candle
Photo by Rahul on Pexels.com

Behind, you left an empty seat,
Behind, you left your light.
Your memories remain with us,
They comfort in the night.

greyscale photography of lamp on floor
Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com

Their names, lit dim mere months ago,
The roll calls just a few.
The flicker soon becomes a flame,
Your name was added too.

blur burn burning burnt
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Then one by one another name,
A life, a candle lit.

tealight candle lit up
Photo by Mohammad reza Fathian on Pexels.com

This scene it takes away one’s breath,
And overwhelms to sit.

man sitting beside building
Photo by Alex Azabache on Pexels.com

Each light released into Thy hands,
Good-by this side of night.
Our loss, eternity has gained,
Released towards heaven’s sight.

bright celebration crowd dark
Photo by Abby Kihano on Pexels.com

The window of my heart remains,
Your light my eyes can see.

pillar candle near clear glass window
Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com

Your light still shines the midnight hour,
There’s peace, you rest with THEE.

lighted candle
Photo by Rahul on Pexels.com

And the peace of God,
which passeth all understanding,
shall keep you hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:7 KJV