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Janette Peterson

Honoring her December birthday

This morning though, I remember my Aunt Janette. Below, I have shared a poem that I wrote in honor of my aunt. She was a beautiful person, inside and out. I was fortunate enough to have a relationship with her right from the time I was born. Last night when I looked at my calendar, and I let the date register with me, I stopped and I thought about my wonderful aunt. She is still very much missed and I cannot wait to see her again, one day, in heaven. This morning, I remember her, and I share this poem I wrote a few years ago.

My Aunt Janette Remembered

I find myself staring into the beautiful spaces that God created and letting my mind wander over the hills, through the valleys, and along the streams. In my mind all of it is wild, all of it is untouched, and all of it is revered by mankind. From the path my mind wanders along, I see the people who now walk the streets of gold, the ones we loved here on earth. I long to sit and visit with them again. I long to hear the familiar laughter that each of them often contributed to our family gatherings. I ache to look into the eyes of those heroes who have gone before me. In those eyes, there are windows to all-time, the windows dressed in love are unmistakable. The eyes invite you in to sit and stay for awhile, they exude love, and portray a confidence that all will be just fine, for where we are gathered, He is there also. Try looking into the eyes of a loved one, maybe an older one, but one who has assured their eternal salvation by giving their life to Christ, and tell me you don’t see all I have described here, and more.

I wrote this piece two years ago, and this morning, I honor my aunt’s life by posting the original words I wrote.

Son Of A Preacher Man

The Old Farmer

 
The Old Farmer
 
I write sometimes too much, other times not quite enough
Getting the time, or room in peace to work can be tough
 
Before I wrote my most viewed piece, Destination Homestead
There was a man who taught me to use an axe in the shed
 
Before if was the right time to do my Generation Jumping
There was a man , well-read, his stories true, lacking nothing
 
I remember a guy who could dribble, and throw with either hand
He was there for The Hug, it’s my pleasure knowing this man 
 
The December women, Janette and Marjorie ; both gardener’s
I love. I feel. I write. This too, I shared God Made a Farmer
 
Today is my birthday and as a present I’d rather share
Read on, if the words pull you, let them take you there
 
The following lines only begin to capture what I see,
In the fading clips my mind plays of how it used to be
 
But, if I could, I’d be there now, as it was, maybe inside
In the old north room, from icy wind you could not hide
 
Or perhaps I’d come down the old stairs just a bit
To smell the bacon, still my favorite I must admit
 
Settle in here and take this trip, maybe grab a partner
These are my heroes see, each one I call the old farmer
 

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