This time of year I always get a little misty about heaven and how indelibly changed I am by those I love who’ve gone there before: my adoptive father, July 3, 1984, and our sixth baby, Duncan Reid, July 13, 1999, after his birth just eleven days earlier. But the tug toward heaven has always been there ...
A certain chording in a song,
An almost-familiar landscape,
A certain scent…
Awakening memories—
Leaving me breathless—
On the verge of tears—
Hoping, wishing, trying
To return to a time or place
So far beyond my reach
That it’s impossible to recapture.
The Past is past,
I am told.
You can never go back.
And so I remind myself
When this ache grips my heart.
And yet I can’t help but wonder
If this, too, is not part of something
greater, deeper, older—
A small part of the continuing proof
That we are not alone
That this place is not…the only one
That all of humanity longs
To reach back
Return
To Whence we came.
O Lord, I know You are real
And You need no proof
Still I am grateful
For a small demonstration of the truth
That I have a Home waiting
And someday I’ll be there
Where all that was broken or lost
Will truly be regained.
Such a touching article, Shannon. I love what you've said.:-)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Candice. :-)
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