I am thinking about a friend who passed away this weekend. Yesterday morning at about 3:00.  I have the privilege of speaking at his memorial this week and as I prepare my words for Mike’s family, I recalled this poem by Nancy Byrd Turner:

Death is a Door

Death is only an old door

Set in a garden wall;

On gentle hinges it gives, at dusk

When the thrushes call.

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Along the lintel are green leaves,

Beyond the light lies still;

Very willing and weary feet

God over that sill.

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Tehre is nothing to trouble any heart;

Nothing to hurt at all

Death is only  quiet door

In an old wall.