An Angel (song)

An Angel
She walked this earth
For forty-three years
Church full of tears when she was gone

I was just nine
Lied and said I was fine
But inside, it hurt like hell

I didn't know she was gone too young
I just knew she was gone too soon

Now all I have in picture frames
Family stories and cassette tapes
I try to think back to the way it was
Before the cancer took her from us
But what nineteen years does to memories
Is hard to tell
Now all I know is an angel

I told myself
I'd never forget
All the things that she meant to me

But time has a way
Of moving beyond
All the things that we hold on to

I didn't know there would come a day
When memories would simply fade away

Now all I have in picture frames
Family stories and cassette tapes
I try to think back to the way it was
Before the cancer took her from us
But what nineteen years does to memories
Is hard to tell
Now all I know is an angel

She prob'ly wasn't perfect
She prob'ly made mistakes
Dinners burned and lessons learned
And jokes she couldn't take
But all these years and all these tears
Have washed all that away

Now all I have in picture frames
Family stories and cassette tapes
I try to think back to the way it was
Before the cancer took her from us
But what nineteen years does to memories
Is hard to tell
Now all I know is an angel

She walked this earth 
For forty-three years
Church full of tears when she was gone...

A short story

His large, workman hands pressed gently against the workshop entrance.  The over-sized, thick wooden door creaked open easily, allowing light to spill into the sprawling space.  The light flowed across the wooden floor to the shop walls, revealing the polaroids that hung there.  Every inch of wall space, around the entire room, was covered in overlapping pictures of the innumerable projects he had already created.  As he strode across the room to the large wooden table, his eyes twinkled with excitement.  Today he got to start a new project.

He carefully and meticulously laid out his materials and grabbed hold of his favorite tool: knitting needles.  As he held the needles in his hand, he looked over what lay before him and smiled.  He has always loved the process of making something new.  He had done this more times than anyone could count, but never tired of the joy it brought him. So with smile still shining and eyes intensely focused but still twinkling, he slid into his chair and began to work.  Lovingly, expertly he stitched together every detail.  He moved his tools and materials with ease and precision, never losing focus on what he envisioned the completed projected would be, and how every detail was completely necessary to achieving that result. 

Day after day he came back to this project, working in quiet calm, the needles clicking as he went along, tick marks of his progress.  Sometimes the needles would connect together so squarely it sounded like thunder echoing through the cavernous space.  Sometimes they would merely brush together, the echo sounding more like a gentle breeze.  But he never slowed down and he never hurried, always focused on achieving his dream, his love for this new creation growing with every stitch.  As it neared completion, as the form and shape started to materialize, saltwater began to form in his eyes, and his smile simply grew bigger.  It was just as beautiful and perfect as he had imagined. 

As he smoothly and joyfully reached the end  of his project, he was beaming with pride and excitement.  He leaned back and simply stared and what lay before him.  Where there once had been nothing, now there was another incredibly beautiful creation.  He looked around the room, almost chuckling to himself as he thought back on the process of making all of those projects that now hung on the walls.  Each one had been perfect, exactly as he had meant for it to be, just as this one was.  Oh, they went out into the world and got played with, hurt, and broken.  But if they came back to him in disrepair, he would always take them back into his shop and lovingly and expertly fix them up again.  In his eyes, new, used, broken or fixed, they were always perfect.

His eyes turned back to what lay in front of him.  He smiled at you like only a creator can.  You were his new, perfect, beautiful creation, and he was ready to send you out into the world.  He knew you might get hurt, bruised, or broken, but he would be ready for that.  He would always take you back into his workshop and gently and lovingly work to repair you.  Because in his eyes, new, used, broken or fixed, you will always be his wonderfully good creation.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body

and knit me together in my mother's womb.

Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!

Your workmanship is marvelous...

- Psalm 139:13-14