A crusty, worn drawing
Resides in my grandmother's attic.
Its yellowing edges and musty smell
Give off a presence that's
Easy to pick out
From the clutter.

So lovingly preserved
By this woman who
First brought Spirit into my life.

Sure, there was Sunday School
But it didn't compare
To the light in her eyes,
The sincerity in her voice
When she told me
All I had to do was believe.

The dream I held
As a treasure in my child's heart --
An unconscious prayer --
Found direction in her words:
"Make a map."
Now I realize it guides me still.

[Erin Rebant]