A little while ago, I wrote a post about hope. This morning, I find myself returning to similar thoughts…
The children recite, “the love of the Lord endures forever”
Momma explains, He sees in the forever and loves in the forever
We see in the moments from birth until death
And try not to, but tend to, believe that’s “forever”.
A bear’s foot must be pushed further into the painful trap to be released
“That’s like us!” we say, happy with an explanation for heartache,
“The bear can’t see the end; neither can we.”
But we lay our heads on our pillows and sigh; it still feels like pain, now.
He makes people in the forever and walks them through death
This dusty earth becomes pilgrims who won’t stay here, forever
He attaches people who are detached by time and place; blood holding them together with each other
with the Messiah, forever
We try not to, but tend to, neglect this hand and walk towards death on our own
He makes promises in the forever and keeps them there
We snip them out like coupons and desperately want them to work for this week’s list
Oh, but we forgot! We are the pilgrims who work the promise out,
Touching fingers from the past to the next generation
Recounting, “the love of the Lord endures forever.”
Who were those forerunners who hoped and hoped without receiving the promise?
Who were those men and women who somehow said,
“We are pilgrims here; this is merely a vapor of forever. When we all get to Heaven…”
They reached back and forward so we would run patiently, too; so that
We would, though we tend not to, remember our homeland.
Can a woman or a man endure pilgrimage for 80 or 90 years?
Can one post-modern late-twenties woman join those in the past and those in the future
and be content to journey towards a promise that is still afar off?
Can we push our feet further in, knowing that the hand around us, at least,
Sees the forever?