My mom recently shared this poem that she found while sorting and organizing through her garage. It was written by my great great grandma Farley. My grandma's grandma...it speaks well to the season I find myself at times!
In the midst of a bog
An old bullfrog
Sat on a log
And croaked and croaked
It’s an ugly old world
He sadly said
All slime and water soaked
But you’re looking down the Blue Jay said
Look at the clear blue sky instead
Hear the birds
And the hum of the bees
The world is filled with melodies
So why should you drink from miseries cup
For goodness sake
Look up.,..look up
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"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."
~Henri Nouwen
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