Tango
One heart yearns, tired
tentatively stepping
building, growing,
keening, wailing
grieving, hoping again to love.
It rises up, old
brokenhearted to dance
circling, soaring
aching, climbing,
mounting stairs, again, to heaven.
in which I discuss the unthinkable
Paul and I have just returned home from the funeral of a most precious little girl. Lydia's smile could have lit a room. Now it reflects the glory of God the Savior for all eternity. Perhaps you've noticed the sparsity of my entries here these last two weeks. We've been struggling and praying for appropriate ways to handle what we're dealing with, and when and whether to speak about it. Up until now, for reasons which will become obvious, I've only shared this with a very few trusted friends. Paul made reference to it on his blog several days ago, but with no specifics. I think it may be time for me to fill in the gaps. What we're dealing with is horrible and ugly - about as ugly as it gets. This all happens on the heels of my mother's death, and has now somehow managed to even overshadow that. Mother's death, as difficult as it was...well...it made sense. She was 87 years old, and hadn't been well in many years. This, on the other hand, is a m...
Comments
Many blessings!
Paul
Paul,
Thanks for the welcome. We'll just take it one entry at a time and see what becomes of the thing.
I like your poem. Even the old and broken-hearted may dance.