The Singing Boat

I think about going home sometimes. Not the going home at the end of a day of work and errands, but the eternal kind. I’m not trying to be morbid, nor is it a fear-filled thing…just curious. What will it be like? None of us knows the particulars of our exit from this world into the next. My friend Marion, though she knew her life would be shortened by cancer, did not know that it would be lung issues, complications of cancer drugs, that would take her in the end. I wish I had had more conversations with her about end of life questions. I wish a lot of things about her home-going. Especially a wish that I had been there. I would have liked to sing to her…to sing her home.

In the week following my friend’s home-going, I kept envisioning this Β sweet little boat carrying my dear friend to the shores of heaven. In this vision, I, along with many others, was singing songs of hope and love, as if the swell of music was the wind filling her sail, guiding her to where rest and wholeness would be hers forever. A cadence of words came spilling out in my mind and a desire to stitch them into a fragment.

Somewhere in the sadness and wishing that I’d been able to sing her home, I realized that this may not have been Marion’s desire, though I don’t think she would have minded at all. I realized that this is my desire, at least here on this side of heaven, where I sit healthy and whole. Who knows how I’d feel after years of battling cancer, struggling for my breath, lying in a hospital bed. When I posted thoughts on the day my friend died, another friend recounted in the comments, a time when she was able to do just this… stand around a dear one’s hospital bed with other friends singing hymns and songs of hope. It is possible. Yet I have no way of knowing how my final days will play out. None of us do.

What we can do is listen for the song of heaven right now, right where we are, where we walk and drive and work and play. We can slow down or stop our blistering pace long enough to hear the strains of music lapping on the shore of our earthbound lives. We can sing along, to ourselves and to each other, making music in our hearts and throughout our days. I’m still playing Christmas music. I think I will for quite a while. The hymns and choral tunes of Christmastide are some of the most hope filled and heartening music I know. And I will continue stitching threads of color and texture in and through found fabrics, like moments and pieces of my life.

Let us sing on, dear friends, as pilgrims in a weary land, keeping our eyes on that distant shore.

The Singing Boat

I’d like to go in a singing boat

Carried along by voices that float

And harmonies pure ringing me home

To that distant shore…no more to roam.


My earthbound boat is a Mazda today

Winging me to and fro in the fray.

I’ll trade it in on a ship so yar

It’s lines like music to all near and far.


The way now is choppy, a blustery gale,

A tempest enough to make any heart fail.

Yet I am bound for a glassy sea

That sings sweet notes lovely and free.


Some days, those notes, I can hear at my feet

Little waves lapping, tapping a beat.

A rhythm of joy! It’s faint but true –

Music from a land awaiting me and you.


For now I will strain to hear above the crashing

Of highways and byways and sentiments lashing,

The melody that calls and sweetly swells

Til my boat sings me home with glorious bells.

— Jennifer Edwards

5 thoughts on “The Singing Boat

  1. What a wonderful tribute to your friend! How special it would be for anyone to be thought of like this and inspire someone to create! I love that a little bit of my dyed fabric is there.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sobering and hopeful thoughts not only for looking towards heaven but for living, appreciating and being grateful and useful where we are today, now, this very moment. Beautiful poem. Beautiful. Beautiful


  3. This is a beautiful post, your stitching, your thoughts, your poem. It reminded me of this, printed on a friend’s funeral leaflet:
    I am standing upon the seashore.
    A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
    She is an object of beauty and strength.
    I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud
    Just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
    Then someone says, β€œThere, she is gone!”
    β€œGone where?”
    Gone from my sight. That is all.
    She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
    And she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
    Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
    And just at the moment when someone at my side says, β€œThere, she is gone!”
    There are other eyes watching her coming,
    And other voices ready to take up the glad shout,
    β€œHere she comes!”
    And that is dying.

    Henry Van Dyke

    Liked by 1 person

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