Another box was opened this week which held my grandmother's Bible. In it were little articles she clipped from magazines and newspapers. Below is a lovely poem written by Lula Lamme. If I listen hard enough I can hear my grandmother reading it aloud.
Who knows, it may be little things that pave our way to Heaven;
So few of us perform some gallant task to leaven
The load of others, but each of us may do
Some little thing each day,
Though it be only one kind word we say.
I'm sure God never meant the pathway to His throne
Should be trod by only those who for noble deeds are known.
I think those gathered will be there for many reasons,
Some who thought to praise their God for sunsets and for seasons.
Those who meekly bear what it is they must,
And murmur low, "They will be done", as plans crumble into dust,
And I think those "little people" of whom no one has ever heard,
May find they've built a stairway with each kindly word.