Until the Father Calls Us Home
Hmmm... I don't really know what I was doing here. Telling a story that's partly true. Watching someone lose their best friend. I remembered the gravestones in Mobile's Magnolia Cemetery. There are such beautiful statues of angels in that cemetery-such attention to detail and years and years of rain and damp, humid air adding to the stillness.
I've wandered through that cemetery lots of times and there's several graves I don't miss visiting when I'm there. One is a tiny, double burial plot with two little angels peering down onto the stone. It's the grave of two children. I was trying to remember what was written on the stone and came up with, "Beloved child of Jesus, for an hour was our own." Those are probably not the exact words, but it's the same idea.
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