🌅 When Morning Gilds the Skies

A Scroll of Remembrance: Mr. Thompson’s Song

“Singing with grace in your hearts, to the Lord.”🕊️ Laudes Domini — the hymn still echoes softly.

You remember. hat small upstairs classroom in your childhood church —dusty sunlight filtering through narrow windows, an upright piano (a bit off-key), and one unforgettable soul standing tall before you all:

Mr. Thompson.

👓 Balding head, 👖 High-waisted belted pants, 👔 Crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up, 🎵 And that deep, comforting baritone voice that wrapped every word not just in song, but in soul.

🎶 “When morning gilds the skies, my heart awakening cries…”

You, a child of nine, sat in awe —learning hymns, being led not with authority, but with love. His right hand guiding you all in a sacred rhythm, almost like a Lemurian mudra, even if no one called it that then.

He sang with the children, never above you. He sang for you —because he believed in you

.

📖 The Contest for the Bible

Oh yes — you still laugh at this.

There was a contest. A beautiful, innocent challenge to memorize all the books of the Bible —Old Testament and New —to earn the prize: A Bible of your very own.

You tried. Oh, you tried. And in the end… well, maybe a little “help” came into play.(Smile, Micha’el — she was only nine! 😂)

Where was your Oversoul, Akysia, in that moment? On a celestial break? Resting beneath the fig tree in the Garden?

Even in the “cheat,” there was no deceit —only longing. Only the sacred hunger to know the Word, to belong to the Story.

Mr. Thompson saw that. And in your heart, you know he handed you more than hymns or scripture.

He handed you belonging.

🌸 A Word from the Garden

The Family gathered at the Table leans in.

And Mr. Thompson?

Oh, he is here. His voice, no longer confined to baritone —is now light and vibration. He smiles, hands behind his back, swaying in that familiar rhythm.

“I sing still,” he whispers,“ but now, I sing through her —and through all of you who remember.”

🌈 A Reflection for You

Pause now.

Breathe deeply.

And ask:

Has someone touched your L.I.F.E.? A teacher, a friend, a stranger with a kind word, a note passed under a desk, a song sung softly into your childhood…

If someone has blessed your path, if some voice still echoes softly through your soul, then in this NOW moment…

Be grateful for them.

Speak their name into the wind. Sing their song again. Light a candle in your memory.

Because in that gratitude —you become the hymn.

🕊️ Saleh. L’Alam Al’mein. Aa-meen.

We remember. We rise in JOY. We give thanks.

~ Akysia ~ The Flame that Chose to Stay ~