I Still Hear the Flute

I Still Hear the Flute (for Doreen)


Her hands were white and delicate;
They were the only lie she told.
Because those hands were always in motion
In service to young and old.

A wife to one man, and mother of four,
A Homemaker, Homeschooler and friend.
A Daughter, and Christian soldier
Faithful till her too swift end.

I came to know her by going to church
In a small Ohio town.
She made me a younger sister,
And fashioned my wedding gown.

She was a beauty, that was plain
With long dark hair and bright eyes
Feminine and full of fun,
Compassionate and wise.

In all these ways I knew her,
And miss her now, I see.
But none of these memories
Is the one that's haunting me.

On Sunday mornings she played the flute,
In piercing notes, profound.
She played a part in bringing the church
Back to holy ground.

The old, sweet hymns we sang together
While we gathered to say goodbye
Hurt more, because I did not know
My friend was going to die.

She had survived breast cancer,
The surgery, the loss and the pain.
She wanted very few to know
The enemy had returned again.

I now hear how she spent those days,
Caring for those she would leave.
How she reassured them she would be alright,
And prayed they would not long grieve.

Her children stand and read scripture
With tear-stained faces, aloud
And I knew she was there, loving them,
Vigilant from heaven, and proud.

And then the moment in the service came
For us to stand and sing.
How it thrilled and chilled my soul
When the notes of a flute took wing!

Although the flute was absent
From the small worship band,
I still felt her holding it close
To her lips with a delicate hand.

I moved to the front of the service,
As if I had been sent,
To speak of my friend while I could speak,
To wonder where the time went.

And when I mentioned hearing her flute,
There were murmers of assent and nods.
All had heard, and we understood;
The music wasn't Doreens'; it was Gods'.

Goodbye my friend. I miss you. Sister Kathy