The video plays.
The tears come.
The ache deep within.
Oh how I miss him.
I listen to the drums.
His style soft and enjoyable.
The song plays.
Behold He Comes.
He would come. He would take my first born.
And He would come again and take my second born.
And He would come again and take my second born.
In the early hours of the morning.
He would come.
My farmer and I talk.
Sometimes we feel like we’re just living, waiting for Christ to return.
We’re so done with being here. . . on this earth.
The pain excruciating.
Everything feeling out of whack.
Is this how all parents who have lost a child feel?
There were 17 years of memories.
Such a pinnacle year.
Graduation.
Celebrations.
Everything about the year in technicolor.
Everything this year. . . reminding us of last year.
Lacrosse games.
Concerts.
Senior activities.
Memories.
Searing pain.
Stepping forward whether we want to or not.
Finding solid ground.
Digging through the fog.
Resting in hope.
The sun plays on the mountain tonight.
It’s splash of color; fall like.
The clouds; moving shadows.
There is wonder in the glory of creation.
The wonder we need to keep.
Eyes wide open to see.
Palms lifted up to receive.
It is He who does the giving.
He who mends the broken pieces.
We are changing.
He loves us enough to not leave us where we were.
The deep soul ache, held is His hands.
Reaching for the beauty still to come.
Because, Behold He comes.
He is coming again.
Riding on a cloud. At the trumpet sound.
Oh that glorious day.
Are you ready?
Is your soul at peace, no matter the turmoil?
Real, rock solid peace?
No doubts.
He’s coming.
My farmer and I talk.
Sometimes we feel like we’re just living, waiting for Christ to return.
We’re so done with being here. . . on this earth.
The pain excruciating.
Everything feeling out of whack.
Is this how all parents who have lost a child feel?
There were 17 years of memories.
Such a pinnacle year.
Graduation.
Celebrations.
Everything about the year in technicolor.
Everything this year. . . reminding us of last year.
Lacrosse games.
Concerts.
Senior activities.
Memories.
Searing pain.
Stepping forward whether we want to or not.
Finding solid ground.
Digging through the fog.
Resting in hope.
The sun plays on the mountain tonight.
It’s splash of color; fall like.
The clouds; moving shadows.
There is wonder in the glory of creation.
The wonder we need to keep.
Eyes wide open to see.
Palms lifted up to receive.
It is He who does the giving.
He who mends the broken pieces.
We are changing.
He loves us enough to not leave us where we were.
The deep soul ache, held is His hands.
Reaching for the beauty still to come.
Because, Behold He comes.
He is coming again.
Riding on a cloud. At the trumpet sound.
Oh that glorious day.
Are you ready?
Is your soul at peace, no matter the turmoil?
Real, rock solid peace?
No doubts.
He’s coming.
