The Glue of God's Grace
Every man who has had a pregnant wife knows what it's like to deal with a difficult woman. Steve endured more than the average man. The days he was gone at school I saved all my complaining and whining and gave him a double dose when he returned home. I demanded a vast amount of stroking and felt incapable of giving him much in return.
One Sunday evening he was at a preaching engagement. I fixed my children dinner and then for once remembered to fix Steve the lunch he would need for the next day. 5:00 a.m. Monday would come all too early when Steve would begin his 3 day stint away from us. This was also the week he would begin working two nights 6p.m.-2a.m. as a security guard at a nursing home.
Impulsively as I finished packing his food, I reached for some writing paper. This would be a good way to tell him how much I cared, and how much I marveled as he continued to give no matter how little I encouraged him. I slipped the note inside his bag.
The next three days had more than than the average amount of lows. By Wednesday afternoon I was like an awkward teenager anxiously awaiting her date's arrival. When he finally arrived he handed me a book he had purchased and inside was a poem he had written for me in between his rounds at the home.
God dropped his great, glowing marble of a moon before me,
But you weren't there.
A hundred miles and more of fields dreading dawn's chilly breath lie between us.
It seems as though more than miles have lain between our hearts these days,
More than inches from belly to breast or steps from sofa to bed.
Has it been toy strewn floors, restless nights, weariness which closes minds and lips?
Perhaps a child nameless yet, tugging at your body and thoughts,
And books spilling off the shelves have so shadowed our lives
That ten years of union could pass unremarked.
Then a note in a bag crowded out the growing cold, the shuffling of aged feet,
Hallway smells and seductive sleep.
Like the sea upon the sand your words left a smoothness
And taste of joy so pungent that I ask aloud
God to be our glue and hold our hearts together through the tearing times,
So that miles, children, books, and years make indivisible our love.
Over the years Steve has written me many poems for birthdays and anniversaries but none of them have been as needed as this poem.
One Sunday evening he was at a preaching engagement. I fixed my children dinner and then for once remembered to fix Steve the lunch he would need for the next day. 5:00 a.m. Monday would come all too early when Steve would begin his 3 day stint away from us. This was also the week he would begin working two nights 6p.m.-2a.m. as a security guard at a nursing home.
Impulsively as I finished packing his food, I reached for some writing paper. This would be a good way to tell him how much I cared, and how much I marveled as he continued to give no matter how little I encouraged him. I slipped the note inside his bag.
The next three days had more than than the average amount of lows. By Wednesday afternoon I was like an awkward teenager anxiously awaiting her date's arrival. When he finally arrived he handed me a book he had purchased and inside was a poem he had written for me in between his rounds at the home.
God dropped his great, glowing marble of a moon before me,
But you weren't there.
A hundred miles and more of fields dreading dawn's chilly breath lie between us.
It seems as though more than miles have lain between our hearts these days,
More than inches from belly to breast or steps from sofa to bed.
Has it been toy strewn floors, restless nights, weariness which closes minds and lips?
Perhaps a child nameless yet, tugging at your body and thoughts,
And books spilling off the shelves have so shadowed our lives
That ten years of union could pass unremarked.
Then a note in a bag crowded out the growing cold, the shuffling of aged feet,
Hallway smells and seductive sleep.
Like the sea upon the sand your words left a smoothness
And taste of joy so pungent that I ask aloud
God to be our glue and hold our hearts together through the tearing times,
So that miles, children, books, and years make indivisible our love.
Over the years Steve has written me many poems for birthdays and anniversaries but none of them have been as needed as this poem.
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