About Me

  Patricia Hammell Kashtock

Aka: Pat Kashtock. Mother of three, wife of one. BA in Social Work and Biblical Studies. Graduate work at Virginia Tech interrupted, then derailed by oldest child’s brain tumor...

My life has not followed the course I planned. But I am not complaining. Pain is to be expected in a world broken apart from its Creator.

The miracle resides in the ability to find joy when least expected...

 

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Blessings,

Pat

For What It's Worth

Each life is a journey. The voices of many guides try to direct us, saying, “This is the path – walk in it!” Yet each one leads in a different direction.

I believe only one Voice can be true. That Voice will lead us in ways most unexpected, into worlds yet undiscovered. It will lead us up the hill, around the river and through the forest. And sometimes, it will lead without mercy.

Or so it seems.

I have made listening for that Voice and following it, my life’s quest. I will share some of what I have heard that Voice say with you. But I am not in the business of telling people how to think or what to believe. Each has to decide for himself. Only you can decide if you find the truth of the Voice in these words. And only you can decide how much it is worth to know the Voice, and follow.

But for me, it is worth the whole world.

And then some…

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Entries in Mother’s Day (1)

Monday
Oct062008

Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day



Posies by a gravestone peeking from its side

Tiny dots of blue with yellow deep inside

Little band of color stands in shades of green

Planted by a Hand that for now remains unseen


And on this day the bright sun barely warms my heart

The bright sun that hangs in heaven

Where You once hung suspended

And it could not warm Your heart

The bright sun could not warm Your broken heart


I stand here by the graveside, a mother lost in pain

Yearning to see her child dance lightly once again

Longings fill this place with empty solitude

Where hope is whispered silently through periwinkle blue


Forget-me-not the flowers whisper, as if I could forget

Your love and lilting laugh echo in my spirit, yet.

Forget-me-not, they whisper as the breeze begins to blow

Stirring up the memories that will not let me go


And on this day the bright sun barely warms my heart

The bright sun that hangs in heaven

Where You once hung suspended

And it could not warm Your heart

The bright sun could not warm Your broken heart


“Remember Me,” You cry through flowers like the star

That hung once in the night for another mother’s child

That child, You were also born to die too soon

While a sword pierced her heart with an empty solitude

And on this day the bright sun barely warms my heart

The bright sun that hangs in heaven

Where You once hung suspended

And it could not warm Your heart

No, it could not warm Your heart

Oh, the bright sun did not warm Your broken heart

Your broken heart

 

Lyrics by Pat Kashtock

Music by Jean Watson

 

To hear Jean sing Mother's Day click here: Mother's Day