Deep in the rite I find myself smoky spice of incense filling the air and a censer rocking on its chains carry me back home to those autumn evenings on mother’s lap the old rocking chair beside the fire ablaze. The smoky scent of burning oak filling the room while she softly sings me her song. Rising, she scoops my sleepy form onto her hip and climbs the oak staircase with her sway rocking me as we ascend to my room where bedside she beckons me to pray. So I fall to my young knees bowing my head, hands clasped and my prayers rise like incense with those of the saints angels around me as I come before God.
~Rae Carpenter
Rae, your mother was teaching you how to love. "Well done my good and faithful servant!"
Beautiful!