With President Hinckley's death, I can't help thinking about all those who've paved the path of righteousness ahead of me, serving as my righteous examples, loving me as only they could. And with those thoughts have come memories of a poem I completed several years ago in response to a neighbor's grief after the untimely death of her daughter. It brought my neighbor comfort. Perhaps it will comfort others, too.

                                                    As I Reflect
                                           By Ronda Gibb Hinrichsen

As I reflect my mother's hands,
Nails cut short,
Callouses made soft by her caress,
I see sacrifice
Grow
Like a candle quickened on a hill.

As I reflect my father's hands,
Palms worn rough,
Fingers clenched tight in healing prayer,
I see Life's Staff
Stand
Tall in the winds of the harvest rain.

As I reflect my home, my hands,
Fingers washed white,
Palms pressed close against my heart,
I smile as winter
Melts
Spring into the Western Sunrise.