Wednesday, March 6, 2013

The Chosen Road

by Tom King © 2011

Lord I know,
You've always had some purpose, some cosmic rhyme or reason.
You always have some greater plan You're working on,
But as the days pass; the months, the weeks - season after season,
I find I weary of the stumbling, steep and rocky path I'm on.

I miss him,
The boy was a hugger, Lord, his kind was rare;
The kind that carries pockets filled with smiles;
Who sweeps into to a room and makes you glad you're there,
A comfort by your side the long and dreary miles.

I know,
His was not an easy road; strewn with stones it was.
Obstacles to surmount, steep climbs, white water churned to foam.
No time for easy stretches, his journey shortened as it was,
He took the harder, steeper road, the surer pathway home.

And yet,
Sometimes I wonder when my road will reach its end.
Sometimes, the truth be told, I wish it would,
But along the way ahead, the twists, the turns, each hill, each bend,
My path is marked o'er moutain crag or through the darkling wood.

Help me,
Every day to find the markers, to choose again the chosen road
Like the one you laid for him, lay one for me.
And grant me strength to climb, to walk to carry any load,
And make my way Your way, and make my road as hard as it must be.

I still weep sometimes,
Sons are hard to lose, a father, You would know;
So strong, so brave, so proud of them we are.
In the end, how hard it is for us to let them go.
Even knowing that with You they're safer far.

Our own road,
The roads WE travel Lord, we trust that you have clearly marked
Whatever rough and weary way that best our soul would serve.
Yet, when we set our babes upon their own path
                                            - away out through the dark,
That is when we trust the road with abject faith and fully test our nerve.

The road will end one day,
I can almost taste the joy, when once again we meet
I can almost hear him laughing loud and full and free.
I can almost feel the circle when at last it's made complete.
I can almost see him grinning, waiting up ahead for me.

© by Tom King

1 comment:

  1. I am weeping as I remember such a loving young man. I can not imagine your pain.