As I write this, my mother is in her bed, eyes open in the dark, wondering who if anyone is thinking of her, is coming to see her. Who will tell her where she is? Who will bring her strawberries? And if not who, when? At least that's what I think she's wondering. Who can tell me what that look in her eyes means? Who can tell me what she means when she doesn't reach for but instead grabs my hand, doesn't hold but clings?
I walk through a disrupted home today, talk with the mover. That goes, that stays. That to this address, those to that one. We're taking a castle down, brick by brick. We're taking a family down, person by person. I'm holding this one, encouraging that one, shocked by that one, sighing over another. I'm grieving my father, and heart-broken over my mother.
What I've learned these past few days, weeks, months... what I've learned is that my father, he did walk on water. And even though every day I understand and through that comprehension admire him even more than before, I still don't know how he did it. He always told me to be brave. I don't think I ever realized how well he knew of what he spoke.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far
and Grace will lead us home.
The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be
as long as life endures.
3 comments:
Maybe he could walk on water, Alison, but all you have to do is keep your head above it. So stand, where the water is shallow enough, and when it seems too deep, give yourself permission to float for awhile.
And Grace shall lead you home.
Beautiful thoughts, Velvet....!
and maybe he didnt walk on water, but instead gave you and everyone else the impression that he did. and maybe he has passed that mantle on to you, sis.
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