Saturday, April 25, 2009


A Story of Adoption and Redemption
by Linda Hyde (my momma)

This is the story of a girl named Promise.
She was a child of promise,
As all children are.
She came into life as
A delicate flower.
She grew and she blossomed
...And then she was bruised.
No one knows how it happened,
What went wrong -
How does one ever know -
It was never intended that it should happen:
Before she was hardly
Out of her youth,
She found herself with child.
How happy she was, in so many ways,
For she longed to give life,
To cause to bloom
...And yet how sad.
She was alone.
She felt she had no one,
No one who cared.
She dreamed a dream:
She walked in a mountain meadow,
The grass living silk beneath her feet.
She mused, she breathed, she felt the sun at her face.
At length, as she drew close to the top,
She saw that a garden wall graced the summit.
A garden!
An expectant crowd of green-and-silver leaves
Overhung the top of the wall.
A glimpse of blossoms,
A fragrance - a glorious feast of fragrance-
Graced her senses.
This was a garden to live in and to be nurtured all your days!
She wanted to go there,
She longed to be there.
She ran!
The going became arduous,
The way rocky.
She grew weary,
So weary.
Voices whispered in her ears:
A subtle hiss,
An intoxicating hint.
They led her where she did not want to go,
She went because she was bruised,
Bruised and broken.
She stumbled.
How very thirsty she was!
How she hungered!
How she longed for relief.
Someone dragged her to the garden gates
And left her there to mock her
(Knowing she could not get in).
"I will find a way!" she thought fiercely,
"I will go in!"
And she found a way,
Because she had the will.
She did not go in by the gate,
She did not come in as a guest.
She came in as a thief,
Clawing her way over the wall,
Dropping to the velvet turf
With a furtive crouch.
The scent!
The wild, happy aroma!
The air was awash with it,
Like water to swim in.
She floated on it till she was wafted
To a Tree, bursting with Fruit:
White, robust, lucid,
And so fragrant.
"I must have it!" she cried.
She jumped, she leaped,
She grasped,
And came down
With the fruit in her hand.
Joy! Joy! Joy!
"It is all I have ever wished for,
It is all I want;
I will eat it and never hunger,
I will drink it and never thirst!"
Up the fruit rose in her hand,
Her lips parted wide,
Her teeth making ready,
Her tongue anticipating…
Then came a sound,
Such a sound to make one's
Heart come alive.
Two sat weeping
Beside the tree.
Her hand froze,
The fruit stayed suspended,
Like a diadem.
Their weeping was loss, sorrow,
Longing, longing, longing!
Down by her side, tucked within the folds of her skirt,
Went the fruit, gripped yet more tightly.
But she must know...
Her heart breaking for them,
She ran and fell at their feet -
"What can it be?
What is this weeping?"
A gasp within her -
What was this?
Desire to aid,
Desire to save
From this unknown tragedy?
What had she to give?
Their story brought an icy wind
To chill her heart.
Their lot in this garden was to tend,
But not to pick, the fruit.
They had entered in at the gate,
The had come up by the way,
They were entitled to the fruit,
But they could not pluck it.
If they were to have it, it was to be given them
Only by someone else.
The fruit in her hand was a living fire;
Her hand burned with it.
She must give it to them:
It was theirs;
But the choice was hers.
There was no choice to be made!
The fire melted the ice,
Her hand reached out,
The fruit was offered.
How happy they were!
How sad she was.
She must die with sadness.
She must be buried in the dirt,
She must sink into the soil,
She must cease to be.
Suddenly cleaved by the Light.
Warmth revived the fainting seed.
She was lifted up.
Like a blossom in the palm,
She lay resting.
A Voice whispered in her ear,
One she knew from Everlasting.
Like a seedling rising to the Sun,
She turned to it.
Her heart listened.
She opened her eyes to see Him.
"You have done for them
What they could not do for themselves,"
He told her, his gratitude like lightning,
His words like living water.
"You are mine."
Gently out of the hollow of His hand,
She came to rest again in the meadow,
The green living silk cushioning
Like a comforter.
Promise, with child, awoke,
Knowing what she would do.
Then, she would climb,
And not alone.
As she had cared for them,
Others cared for her.
She would go in by the gate.
She would find her friends.
There is a garden in her heart;
From it He whispers his promise:
"I will do for you what
You cannot do for yourself."

Unpublished work Copyright 2007
Linda Jean Rainey Hyde
8148 Donnell Rd
Millington, TN 38053
Millington ward, Memphis North stake

1 comment:

  1. Absolutely phenominal. One could only write such if he/she had experienced both the giving and the receiving from Him.