His Gift

I call it the Atonement

That service You did for me,

More than the act of dying

On a cross at Calvary.

In the upper room with disciples

You supped, then washed their feet,

Yet another Divine example

Of the service You silently preached.

After bidding them farewell

And counseling “Of Good Cheer” to be

You took Your leave of them

And moved toward Gethsemane.

Walking through shadows of death

Past the tombs in Cedron Valley

To the base of the Mount of Olives

You, then, got on Your knees,

And Prayed to our dear Father

“Remove this cup from me.”

But yet, “Thy will be done,”

For the full picture, You could see.

Then, as press forces dark red oil

From the fruit of the olive tree,

The weight of my sins and pains

Forced droplets of blood from Thee.

Betrayed, arrested, flogged and scorned

Forced to stumble through the streets.

Accused falsely of frivolous crimes,

You maintained Your Majesty.

Then ‘midst the cries of “Crucify!”

You were nailed, crudely, to a tree.

Finally, whispering, “It is done.”

You died with dignity.

But the rising sun, that first Easter morn,

Found You weren’t where You ought to be,

For You’d overcome the mortal death,

Paved my road to Eternity.

You brought to all mankind a gift,

An eternal legacy,

Of earthly victory o’er the grave,

Of immortality.

And on our resurrection morn

When reunited I will be

With those who have passed on before,

My dear, sweet family,

I will ne’er forget the precious gift,

That You bestowed on me.

A greater understanding, Lord

Of where my life will lead.

You saved my soul, and in doing so,

You saved my posterity.

Thru New and Everlasting Covenants,

That bind for Eternity,

The gate to Exaltation, then

Is open for all who will be

Inheritors of truth and light,

A promise, precious to me.

My debt to You is far beyond

Any treasure I’ll ever see.

So all I can do, is to honor You;

By being what I should be.

You’ve counseled through the ages

To simply, “Come, Follow Me,”

You are my True Redeemer,

So, Thy servant, I will be.

 Valerie Nielsen Williams ©2004

Hands

I walked into the room where you were;

You looked so peaceful,

resting there.

So natural, like you’d looked many times

over the two decades I’d watched you sleep.

I leaned over and kissed your lips–still warm,

But nonreciprocating now.

I smoothed your snow-white hair

with my hand.

By small measure my heart was tearing apart

as I searched desperately

for a miracle.

But you were too silent.

Too still.

I knew you were gone.

“They” told me as much.

And deep, life-giving breaths filled your lungs

no more.

I took your hand in mine, held it,

and felt your life-warmth still lingering.

I wept. I nestled your warm hand to my face

and then to my breast

as I fought to stop the unstoppable.

Minutes flew like seconds.

I was loathly sentient

of the remaining evidence of life slowly

Draining from your hands;

Your life-warmth giving way to Death’s icy grip.

Strong hands that had crafted and built

So many memorials,

Had cradled so many babies

Now limp and leaden as I held them

in my own.

Gentle hands that would never again caress my face

As they had in life;

Would no more gently feather-touch

down to the small of my back

As they had nearly every night before.

Later, making arrangements, I stroked your

embalmed hands;

Now bitter-cold, stiff,

And hot, salty tears could neither warm them

Nor arouse you from your horrid slumber.

Before I locked you away

I placed tokens of our years together

into your clay-like hands.

Bring them to me,

and again,

cradle my face;

stroke my back;

touch my heart.

Valerie Nielsen Williams ©2003

Covenants

I yearn for the cessation of mourning as

Sorrow overwhelms me. Yet

I know our love is eternal.

Strong, albeit complementary, personalities

Match us.

That night, in the mirror,

Upon seeing your truck’s headlights

my heart leaped, then mourned, “You

will never be behind me again.” But

You whispered to my heart, “No,

I’ll always be beside you.”

Months later, in solitary supplication

In the Celestial Room

I yearn to behold your apparition. Instead

I hear you humming your mother’s favorite hymn

And my heart smiles as I recognize

“The Old Rugged Cross.”

Sealing ordinances take on greater meaning

As each day passes since your passing.

As intense as was our mortal love,

I am powerless to comprehend the

Depth and Breadth of our

Eternal Love.

I yearn for the joyous Morning of

The First Resurrection.

We will be reunited,

Body and Spirit,

Husband and Wife,