“Jesus, you suffered on the cross. Help me accept my cross with joy.”
Elizabeth's prayer was taken by friends to the home in Ephesus, Turkey where our Blessed Mother was brought by Saint John following the Resurrection.
For Elizabeth
By NANCY TUPPER LING
I want to write a poem
for the sweetness that walks
here,
barely touching this watery planet
called “home.”
I wonder do your feet touch the
ground?
But I know they must.
Long before the tumor pressed
its relentless fibers into your
cells,
I remember the buoyant girl,
blonde curls escaping from your
bandanna,
lacrosse stick in your hand,
backpack hardly weighing you
down.
You were never alone,
caught in a magical ring of friends and sisters.
Even now as the tumor tunnels in
and steals your sight,
muting the sounds around you,
you continue to smile.
through shadows we fail to see.
A cynic would say faith is blind
but you do not falter,
nor question fate.
With those blue gray eyes
you watch for Him, your Jesus.
See, you say,
wingless angels sing,
their hands stretching,
reaching for you.
I'll leave the door open,
so you will find
all traces of me.