Still unrepaid by aught of mine on earth:
But overpaid, please God, when recompense
Beyond the mystic Jordan and new birth
Is dealt to virtue as to innocence;
When Angels singing praises in their mirth
Have borne you in their arms and fetched you hence.
~ By Way of Remembrance, Christina Rossetti

We in the Thul household are still missing our very own "Fiddlehead Fern" every day. Today is the one year anniversary of her death. I recently put together a small book of photos with a dozen or so verses. The cover page says "Hope" in pink letters. The book is for Rosy, who misses Grandma most intensely of the brood. We memorized together the ancient words about hope: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1). We hope for those days when tears are wiped away, we can ask all our big questions to the Savior Himself, and we walk streets of gold singing a new song, dancing for all eternity.

I can just see Grandma, with her arms finally lifted in praise, singing some great anthem in the harmony of all the host of angels.