Tag Archive | life and death

He Walks this Path

His footsteps shuffle down the hall

A forty-three year walks like he’s ninety,

Where once he walked with purpose and strength,

Now he drags shadows of illness that upon him fall,

As if in his life he’s given his all-in-all.

His dear, dear face is guant and drawn

Whiskers grow in new shades of gray and white,

Upon his face lines of faith wet with tears

He shuffles down a path on Winter’s Lawn

Searching for another days sun to dawn.

His breath is shallow and he is worn

From the walk from bed to bath,

He struggles to sit down before he falls,

This man whose heart to God’s he’s sworn,

Beloved husband and father now so forlorn.

His body wastes away more each day,

Doctor’s have no hint of what’s wrong,

A “let’s see what happens” kind of attitude

Have they heard nothing of what we say?

How can he live on in this fading way?

He’s walked by faith over half his life

Believing God, You’d always see him through,

Trying to give You, Lord his all-in-all,

For twenty-three years I’ve been his wife

Witnessing this cuts like a thousand knives.

His head now on his pillow lays sweet,

Exhausted from walking a twenty feet trek.

And I watch over him as he has me before

Is he still breathing? I check in his sleep.

As my heart clings to our God and I silently weep.

-dfav 4/20/2020

See My Jesus

image
Forget streets of gold,
Sights to behold,
I lived to see my Jesus.
When I’m called home,
Kneel before His throne,
I lived to see my Jesus.
To see His face,
Having ran the race,
I lived to see my Jesus.
On quiet nights,
Know this was right,
She lived to see our Jesus!
               dfav 9/4/15
—Donna

Sameness

image

This is a picture of my African Violet that was the first plant I grew successfully indoors and for an extended period of time.  It was, ironically, a gift from my co-workers when my father died.  So at the time I took this picture the violet was around 2 1/2 years old.

I confess growing it for the most part was done without much thought.  It grew in one of those self-watering pots so I kept the reservoir filled and cut off any blossom or leaf as soon as it looked sick.

Turned out there were a lot of African Violet nurturers in our office building.  All with lots of rules on how to grow this flower with a reputation for being finicky.  Of course I was doing everything wrong. Of course this flower doesn’t like change in it’s environment, period so everyone warned me not to EVER MOVE IT FROM THE SPOT ON MY DESK.

When I had to stop working I had to bring the violet home.  Neither it nor I were happy being home all the time.  Despite my focused attempts, my desire to succeed and a fear of failure the violet died.

I grieved the loss of a plant.  I grieved its loss more than I grieved the loss of my father.  My sorrow wove itself into the fabric of my heart, intertwined with the threads of unhappiness over forced retirement, the loss of knowing who and what I was anymore and my physical pain.

Unlike my violet the tentacles of death I felt didn’t have a firm enough grip on me to succeed.  The difference?  The gardener.

Like the violet I don’t like change, especially drastic change especially.  Unlike the violet I am adapting.

See, my Creator, the same Creator as my African Violet, has a plan for me to continue living and we have a relationship that allows communication.  Complete communication.

I am learning to accept where I am now because God is faithful, trustworthy and knows what is best for me.  Sadly my violet didn’t understand that, but, being it was a flower not a human that reality is understandable.

God promises never to leave or forsake us and He has given us a lifetime assignment. (Matthew 28:16-20)

He promises a plan and a purpose for our lives.  (Jeremiah 29:11).

Our Master Gardener knew us in our mother’s womb. (Psalm 139:13).

Most of all He tells us He is the vine and we are the branches.  To be alive we must abide in Him. (John 15:1-17).

Yes, He makes all the difference.  My way of caring for my violet adapted but the finicky plant couldn’t.  Gratefully, God always gives me His best because He has an intimate knowledge of me. 

Change happens.  God is always in control. 

-Faye