Every day as people pray they ask what can be done.
They ask for love and happiness and for success to come.
They ask a lifetime full of peace;
fall on their knees and pray.
But not too often does God hear: Can I help You today?
It is my greatest hope within, that God will never tire;
Will never leave us all alone without celestial choir;
That angel guides will lead us on,
and never yield to hate,
For love of God will be our path and always be our fate.
—By Lisa Bacon (1935-2012) ©2004
They ask for love and happiness and for success to come.
They ask a lifetime full of peace;
fall on their knees and pray.
But not too often does God hear: Can I help You today?
It is my greatest hope within, that God will never tire;
Will never leave us all alone without celestial choir;
That angel guides will lead us on,
and never yield to hate,
For love of God will be our path and always be our fate.
—By Lisa Bacon (1935-2012) ©2004
As if she wasn't busy enough being a mother, wife, friend, artist, seamstress, singer, and cook, Lisa spent much of her between times jotting down ideas, notes, thoughts, poems and songs. I remember watching her stir a pot of soup and then turn around grab a pencil and scribble a poem or song that had just popped into her head.
Talking on the phone was almost a burden to her, especially in the days of the old corded phone. Mom was not one for sitting for long periods of time, unless she was sewing, crocheting, or doing other needle crafts. I never saw her on the phone without pen and paper in hand to write down the thoughts that were inspired by the conversation.
After she passed away, and we dug through the cabinets and closets full of memories, we found stacks of her writing. Some were so inspired that we were moved to tears. Others were half thoughts, leaving us with a yearning to know more.
Talking on the phone was almost a burden to her, especially in the days of the old corded phone. Mom was not one for sitting for long periods of time, unless she was sewing, crocheting, or doing other needle crafts. I never saw her on the phone without pen and paper in hand to write down the thoughts that were inspired by the conversation.
After she passed away, and we dug through the cabinets and closets full of memories, we found stacks of her writing. Some were so inspired that we were moved to tears. Others were half thoughts, leaving us with a yearning to know more.