Creative Work


Carolyn Caines

I honor Grandmother.
Blessings pass down
from generation to generation.
Her blessing falls on me.
She blesses me from long ago.
I hear her voice still in the night.
The flute plays her song.
I hear her whispering.
Her words pour over me.
I dance because of the way she prayed
in God’s presence,
with eyes lifted up to the Lord.

I am a child of Grandmother.
I spread my hands to heaven.
I dance for you, Grandmother.
Your tears fall on me,
healing the bruises in my soul.
Thank you for your prayers.
The little ones are coming in, Grandmother.
Their hearts are tender, drawn to Jesus
by your prayers.


*This poem was inspired by a Native American friend’s remembrance of her grandmother’s faith

—from devozine (July/August 2014). Copyright © 2014 by The Upper Room®. All rights reserved.

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