Family – Woodsmoke and Cardamom

Counting My Blessings

by Lucy M. Young

Counting my blessings, one by one,
Thanking my Lord for every one.
There are so many I fall asleep,
Relaxed and resting in slumber deep.

I'm blessed with a family, loving and caring,
Friends and neighbors willingly sharing
Their love and their time with me any day,
Whenever I need them come what may.

I thank you, God, for clean fresh air,
For the beauties of nature everywhere;
For food and clothing, shelter and then
I thank you and praise you all over again.

So what if my car is dented and rusty?
It starts when I need it, my faithful old "trusty;"
And what if my coat is four years old?
It's warm and it shields me from winter's cold.

And what if my steps are faltering and slow
And I need a crutch wherever I go?
I can walk, and that's the important thing.
So I'm thanking you, God, with the praises I sing.

Maybe my ears aren't as sharp as they were?
I can hear a bird's song and a kitten's soft purr.
If my eyes tend to blur when I use them too long,
I can see your fair world, glorious sunsets and dawn.

So I count my blessings and fall asleep,
Knowing my Saviour a vigil will keep
'Til I wake to a bright, new, rosy dawn
With a soul at peace and a heart full of song.



photo by Mohammed Nohassi on Unsplash

Memories of Christmas

by Lucy M. Young

There was snow, always snow -
Crisp and creaky underfoot,
Gleaming silver in the moonlight,
Sparkling like crystals in the sun.

I recall the utter stillness of the night,
The vast star-studded sky,
And every year the Christmas star
Aglow above the eastern mountain
Just as it shone o'er Bethlehem so long ago.

I see my mother busy in the kitchen,
Christmas baking perfuming the air;
My father reading in the mellow lamplight
Beside a crackling fire;
My sisters whispering Christmas secrets,
So eagerly anticipating Christmas day.

Most of all I feel the steadfast love
That bound us all together;
The warm security of loving parents,
The peace and harmony and deep contentment
That filled our hearts with everlasting joy.



photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Going Home for Christmas

by Lucy M. Young

We're going home for Christmas
And I can hardly wait
For Mother will be waiting,
No matter if we're late.
For a lamp will burn in the window -
A beacon shining bright -
Mother always put it there
To guide us home at night.

Father will be standing
Beside the open door,
A happy smile upon his face
To welcome us once more.
Our little sister will be there -
The angels will let her leave
To be with us just one more time
This lovely Christmas Eve.

The laden tree will sparkle
In the firelight's cheerful glow,
And Mother will be playing 
Organ music soft and low.
We'll gather 'round her singing
The carols we all love;
Rejoicing that the Precious Babe
Was sent to us from above.

There will never be a Christmas
Like those our memories know
When we were all together
So many years ago;
But we're going home, down memory lane,
How wonderful it seems
To be going home for Christmas,
If only in my dreams.

My Father’s Hands by Lucy M. Young

Gnarled and twisted with arthritis, Scarred and roughened by hard labor on the farm, Gentle hands God meant for healing broken bodies, Steady, careful hands for surgery.

Circumstances forced my father to renounce his calling And the talent in those hands was sacrificed; But they never lost their magic. They could calm a fevered, restless child with their soothing touch.

They could heal a horse’s harness gall Or a little child’s stubbed toe. They could carve and whittle clever toys, Build sturdy furniture for our home, Or a dainty doll’s bed for a little girl.

My memories of my father are wrapped up in his hands, Inarticulate and shy, he let his hands speak for him – Those gentle, patient, work-worn hands, Showing all the love he was unable to express in any other way.