in Remembrance of my Mother

John 14:1 Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. 2 In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. 4 And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.




Margaret Elaine Bryant - b. Oct. 17, 1932 - Passed - Feb. 28, 2009
May she rest in peace from all the troubles and pain in this world.
I don't have a poem. But more tears than I expected.


- with love from your 4th/last child - Edith/Anne Bryant-Hamon

______________________________________

From March 4, 2009 Atlanta Journal Obituaries:

Margaret Bryant

Family-Placed Death Notice

BRYANT, Margaret Elaine Bryant passed away on February 28, 2009. She was 76. Mrs. Bryant was proceeded in death by her husband William R. Bryant. She is survived by her sons Donald S. Bryant, David R. Bryant and daughters Susan Bragg and Anne Hamon and a host of grandchildren and great grandchildren. Her Funeral will be held at 12:00 Noon Wed. March 4, 2009 at The Church of God of the Union Assembly 3105 Bankhead Highway Litha Springs, GA 30122. Pastor Jack Giles officiating. Graveside services are private family only. Family request no flowers.

_____________________________0-0__________________________________
HERE ARE A FEW THINGS I FOUND IN ONE OF MOTHER'S SCRAPBOOKS
THAT SHE'D SAVED....STUFF SHE'D CUT OUT TO READ OVER AGAIN - THE OPENING COMMENTS IN ITALICS ARE MINE....

I was thinking about death and the purpose of death. One thought always leads me to another. I was thinking about certain sins that we find disgusting whether in ourselves or others, behaviors and weaknesses in humanity that we would not want to have to dwell with forever. Death is necessary to "drown" those things - to extinguish them - to release us from the bondage of sin's grasp. Sin can only reign in the mortal realm. Sin has an appointment with death - thank God!

My mother left behind several journals with things she clipped out and prayers she wrote to our Heavenly Father. Mother loved God. Mother was a loving person. But mother, like everyone I know still battled with sin. In that regard, she was no different than any other person. Mother and I did not see eye to eye on everything spiritual. In fact, it was difficult for us to communicate about the things of God and about the scriptures because she was set in her ways of thinking from the church she was raised in. But she knew what I believed about Christ saving ALL of mankind. And she didn't argue with me, nor did I argue with her. I found so many lovely things she'd saved in one of her scrapbooks. Since I think it will bless those who read them I will post some of them here and perhaps add more to this thread as time allows.

A NAME, A NAME, A NAME

I know a soul that is steeped in sin
That no man's art can cure;
But I know a name, a name, a name
that can make that soul all pure.

I know a life that is lost to God,
bound down by things on earth;
But I know a name, a name, a name,
that can bring that soul a new birth.

I know of lands that are sunk in shame,
of hearts that faint and tire;
But I know a name, a name, a name,
That will set those lands on fire.

- Author Unknown -

___________________________________

THE QUIET HEART - Precious in His Sight

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. - PSALM 116:15

Can this be death -
to be released from fear and sorrow,
from sickness, weariness, and pain?
To be removed from sin's enslavement,
From Satan's influence and domain?

Can this be death -
to be presented in His presence,
the One who loves me evermore?
To be accepted in the fullness
Of Christ whom I adore?

Can this be death -
to know complete fulfillment
as I look upon his face?
To feast upon the glories
and the riches of his grace?

No, this is life-
with all that it can offer,
It is joy that overflows!
It is peace that knows no measure,
It is victory o'ver my foes! - MARTIN WEDGE

_________________________________________________

--- The greatest event which can take place in the life of a believer occurs when God delivers us
from the bondage of our bodies and our spirits go to be with him in heaven. What a glorious thought
that is! There is nothing to dread, for it is good to be with the Lord. Death is forever swallowed up
in victory. - HAROLD LINDSELL

_________________________________________________

I do not want to go too soon,
before that final grain of sand,
but neither do I want to be
held back by some unwilling hand
that does not understand God's way
of changing these old clothes I wear,
from frazzled threads of faded flesh,
to robes of grace as light as air.

I want to go out unrestrained,
when he who gave life sets it free,
and pass through with that final grain
of sand in joy and victory. - HELENE STALLCUP, Conway, Arkansas

_________________________________________


Precious, oh how precious is that blessed sheep,
Folded in his bosom, wrapped in slumber deep;
None but Jesus giveth rest so true and sweet
For the weary body and the wayworn feet.

Precious, oh how precious, he alone can know
What a blessed respite after human woe;
Only he can measure their eternal gain,
When they leave forever earthly care and pain.

Precious, oh how precious, to behold his face,
Ever to be with him and to praise his grace
Ah, when Jesus giveth his beloved sleep,
'Tis the tenderest token of his love so deep. - AUTHOR UNKNOWN

_____________________________________________


By day and by night, in life and in death, may I ever be true to Thee, O Lover of my soul,
my ceaseless Friend, my unchangeable Savior. Into Thy hands I commit my spirit. - F.B. Meyer

For a Flighty Wind Bag

- flimsy fLight verse -

To a Janus-face from the land down under
full of too much wind and waves and thunder:
When you cut my nose off to kite your face
you perceived as ignorance my worn out grace.
To a world class queen who knows it all,
may your heel snap off in an Opera Hall!

February Blues

Shall I inscribe my eulogy to joy
on this, a lonesome, February day
over a man I'd thought of as a boy
until he sealed my lips. I held no sway,
no current strong enough to draw him out.
My language blurred the lines, then ran astray
into a grayish space that conjures doubt.
My tender words were meant to chase away
the heaviness that lay upon my shoulder.
I poured three cups of flirting with a smile.
And not expecting it – he grew much colder
as if he’d seen some ghost or phantom guile.
Perhaps the coming spring may turn around
that repertoire of joy I thought we’d found.

You Say My Name

You say my name yet I don't know from where
you learned to curl the vowels like whispered twine
on silken breath of gossamer. With care
you say my name.

You speak and all your words become like wine
and California poppies, grapes and air
as thin as in some northern mountain clime.

Your voice of elegance makes my name rare
and takes me to a place outside of time
where I forget my sorrows. Like a prayer
you say my name.

AfterImage

I see your face and hands
through a dim-lit, panoramic view.
My memories of you are like milky glass
wrapped around far-off days,
metaphysical lines funneling through my dreams
tempting me to reach beyond that which I can grasp,
into vagrant fields where children used to play.

In my eyes, you were high upon a ledge
and I, the trailing ivy on your wall,
my curvy tendrils seeking a firm attachment,
my leaves growing outward toward the light.

I recall you seemingly obscured,
packing suitcases,
often traveling – a distant notion.
Yet I can still recall the love from your eyes,
their lovely hue, like the heaven-blue of morning glories.

I heard about you through stories
from lips that fed me ‘who you were’ –
words from mother’s sacred urn of reminiscence
mixed with ashes of her ire
and fragments of your Colorado haze.

I cannot capture the hereafter,
nor touch you as I once could.
Yet sometimes in reverie,
I envision you:
skipping rocks across a river,
sailing a boat across a lake,
laughing heartily for the joy of life,
an ordinary boy who once was
my father's mother's son.

__________________________________________________________

“Remembering my earthly father”
William R. Bryant - (Born - March 26,1932 - Denver Colorado
– Died September 10,1969 - Birmingham, Alabama)