She reaches up from her mobile prison for a warm hug
Cold fingers, weak arms, aching shoulders, soft scent of Knowing comforting her little girl
Loving words dissolve over the long-distance phoneline from her dragging tongue still trying to speak
Mother of many who listen to her wisdom lying on dad’s king-size handiwork having tea and home-made cake
He curls her carefully cut hair according to his color-coded diagram
Carpenter fingers, gym-trimmed triceps, graying chin still dishing out kisses to his lifelong bride
His humbled words echo when his faith runs low still trusting God for hourly grace to persist
Father of three who buried two, obediently loyal to his Creator King receiving his daily bread
I tell our stories in foreign tongues, singing to aching hearts, smiling at hopeless eyes
Touching the palm of His hand when these memories stick in my throat, my head against His chest feeling our shared breath rise up and down
Pain, suffering, loss―His merciful tools still shaping my sensitivity to the mercies of a full life in His love
Pa, Ma en liefling kind ―available servants to the One who makes gallaxies and babies
2 comments:
Leani, I have enjoyed your writing. I am not sure if you know, but I am in Dr. Burns' class with you and enjoy the questions you bring up in class...keep up the good work...we are almost at the end!
Shattered Dreams... When will we understand why His hands allow suffering?
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