As memory weaves a pathway through my heart to yesterday,

There’s a scene that comes before me that I know is there to stay.

In a quiet grove of aspens, with their trunks as white as birch,

In the shadows of my childhood, stands a little country church.
 
 

It was not a grand cathedral, just a chapel made of wood,

For a country congregation where the fellowship was good.

There were days of celebration, when our happiness was shared.

There were also days of sorrow, when we wept because we cared.
 
 

We were bathed and combed and polished, dressed up in our Sunday best,

To walk down to the chapel and observe God’s day of rest.

Soft strains of organ music floated gently on the breeze,

And the birds joined in the chorus from the branches of the trees.
 
 

We were greeted by our neighbors who had come to worship God

In the little wooden chapel on this sacred piece of sod.

Sometimes Mama played the organ as she sang a hymn of praise,

And Daddy held us in his arms, as anthems he would raise.
 
 

The pastor preached a sermon as we sat there in that place

As he opened up his Bible to explain Amazing Grace.

He spoke of love and courage, and with simple honesty,

Set forth God’s plan for living, with salvation being free.
 
 

There were christenings and weddings, when the old church bells would ring,

And other times we gathered just to fellowship and sing.

When the snow lay deep in winter, we might go there in the sleigh.

Sometimes, we took our dinner when there was a special day.
 
 

Yes, my memory often leads me to that time of long ago,

And the little country church yard, and the friends that I loved so.

Where the Good Lord in His wisdom gently led us in the way

That he knew that we should follow even in our walk today.
 
 

When I leave this world behind me and my spirit is set free,

I’ll be singing with the angels, as they come to welcome me.

And I know where I’ll be going when the time arrives to part,

For the truth learned in the country church was written in my heart.

“May I please have a rose from my daddy’s grave?”

The little girl wept as she ask it.

And someone reached forth and took one of red

From the bouquet on top of the casket.
 
 

“Oh, thank you, kind sir, I’ll hang it to dry,”

She sobbed through her torrent of tears,

“For it will remind me of how much he loved

And cared for me all through the years.”
 
 

I wanted to keep him always with me,

For he had such strong, gentle hands.

And again her tears flowed as they lowered him down,

To be covered by loose shifting sands.
 
 

They led her away as she clung to the rose,

To the cabin beside the dark hills.

And the sadness that followed was silent and deep,

As the night wind brought moaning and chills.
 
 

The mother cried, too, as she held her dear child,

Though she tried hard some comfort to give.

And they vowed they would cling to the memories they shared,

And remember he wanted to live.
 
 

And God in His mercy gave peace to them then,

With compassion that only God knows.

With the dawning of morning, the little girl smiled,

As she reached out to touch, “Daddy’s Rose.”

Daughter of the prairie,

 this is your wedding day.

These thoughts are from your mother, 

as you go on your way.
 
 

Remember that I love you,

 as it is time to part.

  I give to you my blessing.

Please hold it in your heart.
 
 

Daughter of the prairie,

 where will you lay your head

 when the day's long ride is ended,

 and it's time to go to bed?
 
 

Will you lie beside your cowboy,

 spread a blanket on the sod?

Will you dream of home and family 

while you search the stars for God?
 
 

Will you see the moon come rising 

when the night is cool and still?

Hear a lonely coyote howling? 

Hear the whirring whippoorwill?
 
 

Will you feel the night breeze stirring 

through your loose and curling hair?

Will your cowboy dream beside you, 

as your life with him you share?
 
 

I will miss your cheerful presence, 

and the happy songs you sang,

For on the day that you were born,

the bells of heaven rang.
 
 

In my memory, I will always

 hear your laughter, see your smile.

And I trust your man is worthy, 

and will go that second mile.
 
 

For you filled my life with sunshine, 

brought me pleasure as a gift.

And whenever I was weary,

 you would give my soul a lift.
 
 

You were magic in my morning,

 happiness throughout my day.

I will grieve when we have parted, 

but you must be on your way.
 
 

For a new life now awaits you,

 as you are fully grown.

And I pray you will be happy, 

and have babies of your own.
 
 

Then you will know the treasure 

that you have been to me.

No, I will not hold you near me, 

as I want you to be free.
 
 

Free to love your handsome cowboy. 

 Free to help him build a home.

Free to ride into the sunset,

 free to see the ocean's foam.
 
 

But a part of me goes with you,

 as you ride out today,

For your father was a cowboy,

 and we started out that way.

Grandma’s Bible was her guide through a sometimes stormy life.

She received it as a wedding gift when Grandpa took her for his wife.

Its pages told of a loving Lord, who would lead her all the way,

And assured her that when the path seemed dim, God would guide her every day.
 
 

She would take it down from its wooden shelf when sorrow or worry pressed.

Sometimes she shared from its printed page with a weary and travel worn guest.

It spoke of love and a deep sense of peace for all who would believe,

And it gave her joy when she read its truth and a blessing she’d receive.
 
 

She sang from its Psalms when her babies came, and lifted her heart in praise

To the one who had given her bundles of love to cheer her throughout her days.

She read with her man from its bountiful store.  Of its wisdom they freely shared.

It sustained them through trials and troubles sore, assuring them God always cared.
 
 

She found it a guide as her children grew and searched for a life of their own.

And she gave thanks each day as they found the right way when they were fully grown.

The story of Christmas was told to each grandchild who happily sat at her knee…

How the sweet baby Jesus was born late one night, and of shepherds and wise men three.
 
 

She sang of the angels and asked that they guard the little ones safe through the day.

And she prayed every night that God in His might would direct them in the right way.

To the small country church each Sunday she went to learn more of God’s precious word.

And she carefully kept there close in her heart, the messages that she had heard.
 
 

She shared with her neighbors, she gave to her friends.  To give brought her pleasure so true.

And daily, she read from God’s Holy Word, knowing He’d give her courage anew.

Yes, Grandma had lived in the way of The Lord ‘til she passed through the darkening veil.

And she left in her place the Bible she loved to guide us on each narrow trail.