We went for a stroll one morning,
Just my father and I.
As the sun awakened and rose in the east,
I took my father's hand-
And we walked along the country road that was our home.
As we walked, we reminisced-
We remembered.
We laughed.
We cried.
Days passed, years even-
Seasons changed as we walked,
My father and I.
We shared memories of our life spent together-
Memories that healed and memories that hurt.
We walked past green pastures,
And I saw through his eyes-
All of the moments,
That had sculpted his life.
I saw his love and dedication to my mother.
I saw the awe in his heart-
The day his children were born.
I saw his grandchildren,
Sons, daughters, family, and friends-
He had gathered along the way.
On our journey down our country road,
We rarely spoke aloud.
The conversations we had existed,
Between his heart and mine.
As the dusk began to fall,
And the sun was put to sleep-
My father gently squeezed my hand,
And I knew our time together was drawing to a close.
As I gazed out beyond our path,
I noticed that my road was coming to an ending-
While his was just beginning.
And even through my heartache,
I was happy for him.
This was the road that would lead him home-
Others waiting to guide him on his way.
To grasp his hand-
As mine slipped free.
Even through my anguish,
I understood-
He had been preparing me my entire life for this moment-
The time I would need to walk,
Alone.
Without his hand to hold.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
The Last Season of a Farmer
The last season of a farmer,
It doesn't quite seem fair.
He'll never see the progress,
Of what he planted there.
The last season of a farmer,
He's toiled this earth with love.
The next harvest he will see,
Will be witnessed from up above.
The last season of a farmer,
The legacy he leaves behind.
Is one of riches far more great,
Than many ever hope to find.
The last season of a farmer,
Was spent watching his family thrive.
Because no other crop ever measured up,
We are the memories that keep him alive.
It doesn't quite seem fair.
He'll never see the progress,
Of what he planted there.
The last season of a farmer,
He's toiled this earth with love.
The next harvest he will see,
Will be witnessed from up above.
The last season of a farmer,
The legacy he leaves behind.
Is one of riches far more great,
Than many ever hope to find.
The last season of a farmer,
Was spent watching his family thrive.
Because no other crop ever measured up,
We are the memories that keep him alive.
Friday, August 3, 2012
The Heart of a Warrior
I come from Viking stock. Thick warrior blood courses through my body. My ancestors faced unknown challenges in that icy tundra with perseverance and determination.
My warrior blood comes from my father. For centuries the fighter spirit of our kin has been passed down through generations, and now, finds life within us...my father, my father's children, and my father's grandchildren. It is a gift that's been honed for years. Thank God for that, because now we're cashing in.
My father has a heart of a warrior. He is quite simply, the strongest man I've ever met; even if you cannot see it from the outside. He is facing his own icy tundra, but those of us who love him, would never know the pain he must feel.
Even in his own hour of need, he is not thinking of himself. Rather, the depths of his love for us shines on us and warms us. He is wrapping us in a blanket of comfort, love, courage, faith, and family. To understand how loved we are is enough to cause me to fall apart. There are no words to describe what it feels like to know he is head-over-heels in love with everyone of us. He will always protect us.
My father carries on the tradition of those who have come and left before him. Their spirit is very much alive in this modern day Viking. But, unlike his forefathers, he comes in peace; he always has. This Viking I know has the most gentle spirit. He is honest. He is fair. He is loyal. He is extremely witty and wildly funny. He has never met a stranger.
I hope when his warrior ship reaches its final destination, it is met with a quiet breeze, that will usher in all of those who have helped to make the Viking-who is giving us the warrior strength we will need to go on.
My warrior blood comes from my father. For centuries the fighter spirit of our kin has been passed down through generations, and now, finds life within us...my father, my father's children, and my father's grandchildren. It is a gift that's been honed for years. Thank God for that, because now we're cashing in.
My father has a heart of a warrior. He is quite simply, the strongest man I've ever met; even if you cannot see it from the outside. He is facing his own icy tundra, but those of us who love him, would never know the pain he must feel.
Even in his own hour of need, he is not thinking of himself. Rather, the depths of his love for us shines on us and warms us. He is wrapping us in a blanket of comfort, love, courage, faith, and family. To understand how loved we are is enough to cause me to fall apart. There are no words to describe what it feels like to know he is head-over-heels in love with everyone of us. He will always protect us.
My father carries on the tradition of those who have come and left before him. Their spirit is very much alive in this modern day Viking. But, unlike his forefathers, he comes in peace; he always has. This Viking I know has the most gentle spirit. He is honest. He is fair. He is loyal. He is extremely witty and wildly funny. He has never met a stranger.
I hope when his warrior ship reaches its final destination, it is met with a quiet breeze, that will usher in all of those who have helped to make the Viking-who is giving us the warrior strength we will need to go on.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Suitcase For Heaven
If I could pack you a suitcase for heaven,
What would I include?
I would fold you up a summer day,
With the flowers in full bloom.
I would fill your pockets with
Love letters,
Written from me to you.
One for each day
I will live my life without you.
I would bid you safe travels,
With the rich soil from your home.
I would tie it in a knapsack,
For with you it must go.
And just for you,
I would tuck away-
Little pieces of my heart.
Because home is where the heart is,
And my heart will go with you.
I would decorate your suitcase,
With pictures from your past.
In hopes that when you see them,
You know your memory will forever last.
I would blow in a thousand kisses,
With a wish that you would plant-
One upon your face,
If you happen to feel sad.
If I could pack you a suitcase for heaven,
The one thing I would like to send-
Is all the love I have for you,
Until we meet again.
What would I include?
I would fold you up a summer day,
With the flowers in full bloom.
I would fill your pockets with
Love letters,
Written from me to you.
One for each day
I will live my life without you.
I would bid you safe travels,
With the rich soil from your home.
I would tie it in a knapsack,
For with you it must go.
And just for you,
I would tuck away-
Little pieces of my heart.
Because home is where the heart is,
And my heart will go with you.
I would decorate your suitcase,
With pictures from your past.
In hopes that when you see them,
You know your memory will forever last.
I would blow in a thousand kisses,
With a wish that you would plant-
One upon your face,
If you happen to feel sad.
If I could pack you a suitcase for heaven,
The one thing I would like to send-
Is all the love I have for you,
Until we meet again.
Please Don't Judge My Child
Please don't judge my child,
I can see it in your eyes.
If you only knew his story,
You just might sympathize.
Please don't judge my child,
He hasn't yet found his voice.
When you hear those screams,
Sometimes they are his only choice.
Please don't judge my child,
He's as sweet as sweet can be.
He is my gift from God,
I urge you to try and see.
Please don't judge my child,
If you only knew-
How hard he had to work,
For what came naturally to you.
Please don't judge my child,
Because if you take the chance-
You just might gain a friend.
If you take a second glance.
I can see it in your eyes.
If you only knew his story,
You just might sympathize.
Please don't judge my child,
He hasn't yet found his voice.
When you hear those screams,
Sometimes they are his only choice.
Please don't judge my child,
He's as sweet as sweet can be.
He is my gift from God,
I urge you to try and see.
Please don't judge my child,
If you only knew-
How hard he had to work,
For what came naturally to you.
Please don't judge my child,
Because if you take the chance-
You just might gain a friend.
If you take a second glance.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The Ending of a Story
The ending of a story,
The last turning of a page.
The author's quill falls silent,
No more memories to be made.
The ending of a story,
An epic one at best.
Full of love and pride and laughter,
Of gentle smiles that never rest.
The ending of a story,
A life lived with strength and grace-
With faith that never wavered,
And understanding that rarely swayed.
The ending of a story,
I was blessed to have the chance-
To be a character in the making,
Of a life that too soon passed.
The last turning of a page.
The author's quill falls silent,
No more memories to be made.
The ending of a story,
An epic one at best.
Full of love and pride and laughter,
Of gentle smiles that never rest.
The ending of a story,
A life lived with strength and grace-
With faith that never wavered,
And understanding that rarely swayed.
The ending of a story,
I was blessed to have the chance-
To be a character in the making,
Of a life that too soon passed.
Thirsty
How will I manage to face the tomorrows that are about to come? At what point will I be able to handle nothing more and collapse into myself? Where will I go then? What well of strength am I supposed to draw from? I feel like I have been drained. Empty. There's nothing tangible for me to hold on to anymore. A mirage is all that's there. I am tired and thirsty. Thirsty for a reprieve from the hurt. Thirsty for a break from the pain. Thirsty for a remembrance of what life was like before this drought. I wonder if I would even recognize myself? I pray for the day the rains will come. But, I am terrified that when those torrential showers of emotions are finally set free, and my thirst is eventually quenched, it will be the day the last little piece of my heart breaks. The day the dam of my soul succumbs to the grief.
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