Ashes and Scrubbing, Faith and Hope ?
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She died on a Friday. Early afternoon.
She was tiny + frail + very very old.
Light as a feather,
quiet as a whisper,
the color of a pure white snowflake.
Her name was Claire.
Why do I try to scrub this away?
This sign of repentance.
This mark of mortality.
This sign of faith.
This mark of hope. ?
Hope so resistant. Hope so insistent.
Why do I try to scrub this away?
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Peace and blessings, ~ shoshanah
Following Jesus in the Little Way