Traveling to the Saturday mornings saw the weather change,

The sadness of those passing in our family around us,

The unchanging nature of liturgy,

And of community prayer.

Through this, she sat, praying,

Listening,

Touching dialog with the lightness of a water droplet,

So as to leave a mark which placed Francis,

Or Jesus on the conversation.

The fellow explorer filled with love,

No agenda, but seeing where the way has been lost,

Or should be … the Franciscan way.

Only when a nail is placed in His hand, does she respond less gently.

And even then, not chastisement,

Rather redirection.

For this soul is the essence of a Franciscan.

Love encased in wisdom for the world to savor.