Rush of Reverence (or, Blessing of Family)

Today in Canada we celebrate Family Day!Thank you, gracious Heavenly Father for the most beloved blessing of family! This poem began with a soft smiled desire to collect a medley of mementos framed in memories;the kind most families can relate to...It ended with me wiping away tears as our church family received a request to pray for a family who lost their son yesterday after a brief illness. He was in grade five and a best friend to a few boys in our church family. There will be cake... I realized I made exactly the same cake recipe (top left corner of photo collage) last year for family day weekend only last year's didn't flop😅 () There will be little fellas by their older sisters, bossedThere will be Cinderellas with glass slippers not yet lostThere will be household chores and uproars outside bathroom doorsAnd scoldings as trespassers tiptoe over fresh mopped floorsThere will be oceans of spilled milk on which years sail to seaWhile we are busy being the blessing of family There will be tender moments (and those, not so tender too)As love lays down firm ground rules on what and what not to doThere will be happy laughter and oh, there will be heartbreakThere will be health and sickness as we shoulder give-and-take There will be prayers, so many prayers, and cake and cups of teaAs we thank God for the kind blessing of a family There will be editing as mom tries to tame grocery listsAnd day trips to doctors, dentists, teachers and pharmacistsAnd sweet goodnights and wake-me-ups at half-past way too soonAnd playdates in the backyard and laundry lines to the moonAs smiles and tears compose a dear echo-framed galleryOf motley medleys showcasing blessing of family There will be second miles as we all learn to do our partTo make the most of perfectly imperfect works of artThere will be popsicle mustaches, puddle-splashes, andA bedtime-story-goodnight-kiss-prayer-paved path to dreamlandThere will be storms to weather as we weather what must beNot alone but together with blessing of family There will be sacrifice, the price of love requires thisThere will be hands to hold and hands we held and dearly missThere will be lovely glimpses of Heaven on earth and oh,There will be grief, as we suffer Love’s hardest letting goWhich reminds us to cherish every opportunityTo never take for granted, the blessing of family Lord, willing there will be babies, grandmas and grandpas tooAnd in between, a spectrum of love's green-gold-blush-and-blue There will be crushing disappointments, patience-bested rantsAnd through it all, pray, an increasing awe for He who grantsAnd cares for us the same through both triumph and tragedyWhile teaching us to treasure the blessing of family There will be noise and weariness and broken toys and dreamsAs girls and boys shed childhood joys far too quickly, it seemsWhen looking back at careworn seasons hushed by yesteryearLeaving behind a rush of reverence for now and hereBecause no one can tell how near or far lies death’s dark seaThat alters (until Heaven) the blessing of family © Janet Martin “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.” – Exodus 20:12 “Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.” – Psalm 127:3-5 “Bear with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgive each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” – Colossians 3:13 below, one of my forever favs by someone who hugely impacted my love of poetryEdgar A. Guest HomeBY EDGAR ALBERT GUESTIt takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roamAfore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything. Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and thenRight there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t partWith anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they woreYe hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door. Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sighAn’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memoriesO’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these. Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by yearAfore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dearWho used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ runThe way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.