Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: DIARY (05/16/19)
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TITLE: Mother's Hidden Box | Previous Challenge Entry
By Mariane Holbrook
05/21/19 -
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It seemed as though she toiled from morn 'til night.
The very last to go to bed when all her chores were done,
She still was first to rise at dawn's first light.
The times she found to be alone were few and far between;
We fought for her attention all day long.
Though God restored her tired body when she prayed each day,
The truth is, she was never very strong.
Though crippled with arthritis and stenosis of the spine,
Anemia and migraine headaches, too,
She took in sewing as a means to supplement Dad's pay
And somehow every month they made it through.
When Mother died at 96, she left a legacy
Of godliness, hard work, and faithfulness.
We grieved when Mother left this earth for her eternal home
But glad that she was free from pain and stress.
Her children sorted through her things; some letters, cards, and gifts.
Her Bibles, worn and dog-eared, made us weep.
We found a box she'd hidden that we never knew about;
'Twas full of diaries that she meant to keep.
They numbered over twenty and began when, as a teen,
She dreamed of married life; how sweet 'twould be.
The pages now were yellowed with the passage of the years;
Still, we could read with some facility.
Her courtship with her sweetheart was both heartbreaking and sweet.
In World War One, his troop went overseas.
She searched the news for information of his battleship
And spent much time in prayer down on her knees.
Recorded in her diaries were events that she held dear;
Her marriage to her sailor, home from war.
The births of all her children and their antics were detailed.
I laughed to think that she'd been keeping score.
We finally reached the diary that our Mother wrote in last;
'Twas written just a week before her death.
Still, anxious as I was to read her final, shaking script,
The tension of it made me hold my breath.
"My time is near," she wrote," to tell my precious ones goodbye.
I'll join their dad who's there on heaven's shore.
I want them all to know that we'll be waiting for the days
When one by one, they'll walk through heaven's door."
A sob came from my brother, who was sitting next to me.
"I'm still not saved," he cried aloud, and then
We knelt by Mother's diaries that were spread out on the bed
And wept while Mother's son was born again.
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I loved this poem.