GRIEF

I was ordering flowers from a local store for my friend Liz’s mother funeral.  I was reading the last stanza of Prescious Lord:

Precious Lord, take my hand
Lead me on, let me stand
I’m tired, I’m weak, I’m lone
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

As I read the words she sang them back to me.