In memory - Mom (Barbara Jean Shetterly)

Aug 15, 1939 to Jan 4, 2002


   

For you Mom,

We traveled this world
Through the joy and fun,
The sorrows and the pain.

Not a moment went by
when you were not on my mind.
For you are my mom.

There are so many things
that I don't understand
And are now lost in time.

I look within myself
And I see you so much
For I am your son.

© 01/04/2002 DonShetterly

 

Mom,

You gave me so many things.  I will probably miss some but here is what I can see in myself that you gave me.

Your intelligence
Your beautiful looks
Your compassion for others
Your understanding of life
Your strength to keep going
Your never ending fight
Your talent of music
Your respect of all things
Your ability to deal with pain

Mom, thank you for what you gave to me.  I carry it with me each and every day of my life.

 

Mom

I know there are two things that you really loved. 
I have included them because I know you will read this.

 

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

 

I Come To The Garden Alone
I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses;
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me,
And He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing;
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

And He walks with me,
And He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

I'd stay in the garden with Him
Tho' the night around me be falling;
But He bids me go- thru' the voice of woe,
His voice to me is calling.

And He walks with me,
And He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.
C. Austin Miles

 

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