Perhaps it was in the way she knelt down at the alter,
Or how she pumped her hands to the sky during worship,
Or the melody of her voice when she praised…
It could be her beaming face at the sight of teachings.
She was the gospel clothed in linen dresses,
Crisp like pages of an old bible,
Sharp like the Lord’s sword,
Fierce like heavenly fire,
Firm like David fighting Goliath,
Hopeful like Mary,
Obedient and faithful like Abraham,
Perhaps that is why he never stopped loving her;
Even in her old age with wrinkles encircling her face.
Even with her slow paced movement.
He stayed the same–
Praised God when she was on her sick bed,
Wrote her letters when she felt empty.
Held her hands on cold winter nights.
Embraced her lanky body with his firm arms.
He loved her like God loved the church