Faye’s Song

Stop and let a simple rhyme
Teach a lesson that I learned—
How God’s grace is an amazing gift,
Not a reward that can be earned.

The tale I’m about to tell
Is of a well-lived life that ended
Much too soon, some said, for one
Who on the Lord depended.

When Faye was still a tiny girl,
Her family life was tough.
Times were hard and money scarce,
There never seemed to be enough.

Faye’s mama was a quiet soul
Who gave them all her best,
Even when her husband’s drinking made her cry
And put her patience to the test.

For when he drank, it wasn’t long
Before he started acting mean.
The children learned to disappear
When liquor caused a scene.

One day, so the story goes,
The kitchen shelves were bare.
Faye’s mama had to feed five kids
With just a single onion there.

But she put a smile upon her face
And some water on the stove,
Then laughing, told them stories as
She cut the onion and added cloves.

Soon the kitchen smelled of soup—
Fresh and piping hot—
As they focused only on what they had,
Instead of what they had not.

The next day, just at suppertime,
Came a knock upon the door.
It was members from a nearby church,
Delivering groceries from the store.

Faye’s poor mother began to weep,
And as she walked them back outside,
She wiped her tears and whispered,
“I knew God would provide.”

Faye remembered it all so clear
And knew she’d never be the same.
Her heart had changed when they’d received
That food in Jesus’ name.

She herself became a Christian,
Because deep inside she knew
That what those people did for her,
She wanted to someday do.

To spread His message and His love
To those who were without.
Love for God filled up her heart
With no room left for fear or doubt.

Faye grew up, and nothing changed—
God remained first in her life.
She believed He’d guide her future,
That she’d end up a good man’s wife.

Her strong faith was rewarded
When God sent Larry to take her hand.
They were meant to be together—
She knew it had to be God’s plan.

Faye’s life centered on her family
As the babies came one by one.
Their home wasn’t large or fancy,
But filled with laughter, faith, and fun.

Faye and Larry made Christ the cornerstone
Of their marriage and their lives,
Trusting that when troubles came,
They would triumph and survive.

She made sure each of the children
Learned of Jesus and what He’d done—
How He’d lived and how He’d suffered,
Because He loved them, every one.

Then the children grew up and left,
And there came that awful day:
Faye and Larry sat holding hands
To hear what the doctor had to say.

“I’m very sorry,” he shook his head,
“But the tests are very clear—
It’s early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
Faye’s blue eyes filled with tears.

She sobbed, “But I’m only fifty-seven,
Couldn’t the tests be wrong?”
The doctor gently shook his head;
Larry whispered then, “How long?”

The doctor replied that this disease
Was impossible to foretell—
There’d be days her mind would slip,
And others when she’d be well.

She felt the panic starting in
As terror seized her heart.
She wouldn’t recognize her family—
How soon would symptoms start?

Would she lose all her precious memories
Or forget her children’s names?
In her heart there was no doubt
Her life would never be the same.

And very slowly, day by day,
As awareness came and went,
The loving support her children showed
To Faye seemed heaven-sent.

For every one of them rallied ’round,
Handling what she no longer could,
And through it all her trust in God
Remained—like she knew it would.

One day, her oldest daughter said,
“Mom, this is so unfair.
You’ve honored God your entire life,
And now He doesn’t seem to care!”

But Faye smiled at her daughter, saying,
“The Lord always has a plan.
It’s not for us to doubt or question
When we can’t see or understand.

I know He has His reasons
For what I’m going through.
I only wish it weren’t so hard
On Dad—and all of you.

But what I’m most afraid of
Is the disease that steals my mind
Will cause me to forget my faith
And leave Christian ways behind.”

“As time went on,” her daughter said,
“Confusion made her fight and fuss—
Not understanding where she was
Or even recognizing us.

But whenever she seemed agitated
Or on the verge of losing contact,
All we had to say was, ‘Mom…
That’s not how Christians act!’

Immediately she’d join her hands,
Bow her head, and start to pray.
Alzheimer’s robbed her of so much,
But God’s love was there to stay.

We girls took turns as things grew worse;
One of us was always there—
Helping Dad as he cared for Mom,
Joining in his tears and prayers.

Till at the end he sat with her,
Telling her gently that his love
Would grow and be even stronger
When she was in heaven up above.

Her passing was very peaceful,
With the family all close by.
She’d never lost the bedrock of her faith,
And now her soul could fly.”

Faye’s daughter wiped a tear away,
Saying, “I was angry she was gone,
And it took a while for me to see
That my whole attitude was wrong.

I blamed God for all the suffering
That my mom had been put through—
Until I realized at last
That what she had said was true.

Illness took her mind and memories, yes,
Leaving her frightened, weak, and frail,
But to the end she kept her faith,
And her love of God prevailed.

The one thing that she feared the most—
Forgetting about the Lord—
So He made sure it never happened,
And it was such a sweet reward.

I was so bitter at how she suffered
That at first I couldn’t see—
Until the example of her life
Hammered the lesson home to me.

God is always with His children,
No matter what they’re going through.
If you love and put your trust in Him,
He’ll always be close to you.

My mother’s life is proof of that.
She had faith in God’s great plan,
And when she reached out at the end,
He was there to take her hand.

Her lifelong faith and trust in Him
Set the example that made me see—
That He was always there for her,
And so would He be for me.

Our loving mother waits above
To one day welcome us all home,
And in our hearts we each believe
That not one of us walks alone.

The Shame of the Game

(Words for Living — Hope Scribed)

It starts off small, this thing called sin —
A pout, a stomp, a stubborn grin.
So sweet they seem, yet sly and keen,
They test the edge of what’s unseen.

At three, it’s tantrums, fire and flare,
A “no” declared to every care.
Frustration slips through gritted teeth —
The serpent hums beneath the wreath.

By four, they reason, they mimic your tone,
A spark of logic — they’re not alone.
You breathe a sigh — they seem more tame,
But the world’s begun to teach the game.

At five, you’re tired, just trying to cope,
You trade a screen for a slice of hope.
Distractions hum, the days blur thin,
And lessons drift beyond your kin.

By six, the charm starts losing sheen,
The ego wakes where grace had been.
The fix was love when “three” was small,
Not rules to break or rods at all.

Seven feels calm — the storm subsides,
You breathe again, their heart complies.
You think, perhaps this phase is done,
Till mischief rises with the sun.

At eight, independence stakes its claim,
Freedom whispers — pride takes aim.
You see a spark, yet sense the flame,
The testing starts — they’re not the same.

Then nine steps in with growing stride,
Questions bloom where faith once lied.
Stay little child, don’t race to grow,
The world is faster than you know.

Ten is wild, half-child, half-grown,
Sarcasm builds its fragile throne.
Their humor cuts, their temper frays,
You blink, and innocence decays.

Eleven comes — rebellion’s seed,
They mimic what they’ve heard and seen.
Our patterns play upon their stage,
A mirror of our hidden rage.

By twelve, they scorn the rules we made,
The fruit now ripe from what we’ve laid.
They question God, they mock His name,
Unknowing yet — it’s all the same.

The Shame of the Game — Part II

(Words for Living — Hope Scribed)

Thirteen whispers, “I know best.”
The heart grows proud, the soul un-rest.
Rules once clear now blur in view,
And conscience dulls to something new.

At fourteen, image takes the stage,
They trade their wonder for a cage.
A mirror’s praise becomes their crown,
While silent doubts keep dragging down.

Fifteen burns with borrowed fire,
Desire dressed as pure desire.
They chase the thrill, forget the cost,
The path once marked by light feels lost.

Sixteen drives with heavy feet,
A taste of freedom—sharp, and sweet.
They talk of love but barter trust,
They’re learning now that hearts can rust.

Seventeen hides pain in pride,
The world applauds the mask applied.
They laugh, they boast, they play the part,
While shame still beats beneath the heart.

By eighteen, sin has learned to smile,
To shake a hand, to charm, beguile.
It wears success, a steady name,
And calls the cage a rightful claim.

Nineteen runs to prove it’s free,
Yet trips on threads of memory.
The lessons lost, the prayers once said,
Return like ghosts inside the head.

Then twenty wakes with restless eyes,
The years behind now thin disguise.
The game has grown—but so has pain,
And whispers start to call His name.

At twenty-five, the mask feels tight,
The soul begins to crave the Light.
All things gained feel dull, untrue,
The child returns, though born anew.

Grace steps in with quiet hands,
To teach what law could not demand.
Forgiveness blooms where guilt once grew—
The heart remembers what it knew.

The cycle breaks, though scars remain,
A lesson carved through joy and pain.
Sin’s shadow fades beneath the flame,
And mercy wins the final game.

The Shame of the Game — Part III: The Parent’s Return

(Words for Living — Hope Scribed)

By thirty, the echoes start to play,
Their laughter sounds a younger day.
You hear yourself in what they say,
And bow your head — to learn to pray.

At forty, pride begins to bend,
The race for more starts losing end.
You trade applause for quiet ground,
Where grace is gold, and peace is found.

By fifty, faith becomes a friend,
Not rules to keep, but love to tend.
You speak of mercy, not of blame,
You’ve seen the cost behind the game.

At sixty, memory’s softened glass
Reflects both joy and pain that passed.
You see the pattern, bright and dim —
How God was teaching through each limb.

By seventy, tremors grace your hand,
But wisdom steadies where you stand.
You smile at youth and softly say,
“Slow down, child — don’t waste the day.”

Eighty hums a gentler tune,
You count the stars beneath the moon.
You whisper prayers for those who stray,
And thank the Lord for every day.

Then ninety comes with weathered skin,
But light still burns bright within.
You’ve lost, you’ve wept, you’ve learned to stay —
The Potter’s hand has had His way.

And when the breath of life grows thin,
You look to Heaven, smile again.
The shame is gone, the game is through,
The Father says,
“Child… I always knew.”