Gramma died 25 years after she stopped mothering me.But she left me something special, and I hear it whenever the need occurs.A tune wafts in unexpectedly when I am kneading bread or hanging laundry on the line.The opening phrase of an oldhymn bursts from my mouth:
   "Are ye able," I suddenly sing out.
   "To believe that Spirit triumphs," I can hear Gramma picking up the next line.The verses poses a great question about faith, but I am thinking about what Gramma gave me.
   "Lillian," I answer, "thank you for my voice."

 

~ from BLACKBERRY SEASON by H. H. Price