Emphasis Preaching Journal

A widow trudges through a cemetery, counting off the rows of headstones, until she reaches the one with her husband's name inscribed upon it. As she takes trowel in hand and kneels down to plant those flower bulbs or to pull those stray weeds, she remembers. In her weeding, she remembers. In her planting, she remembers. In those few whispered words of affection, spoken as though he were kneeling right beside her, she remembers.