we look for rest in circumstance.
we look for rest in ability.
but You, our friend.
we really just want to be with You.
but we can't comprehend it.
this thing called Eternity.
and we can hardly comprehend love unconditional.
and so we ask, while we are here, is there really no rest for the weary?
we catch glimpses in our mind's eye,
of You with us, as promised,
and in all that reminds us of Home,
a solitary spot in the back of the house
the floorboards that creak under our feet,
newspaper ink on our hands,
kin around our table,
and the way that our loved one holds their cup of coffee.
You make Your presence known to us,
in that way You tend to do,
some of which we only see upon reflection.
in laugh lines
groggy-eyes
the clink of glasses
wooden spoons in hand
laughter down the hallway
we see in silhouettes only,
a bit about where we are headed,
and still You are so much more.
the sun on our backs is You pushing us forward,
homeward,
nearer to our rest.
Until then, we are intent on finding You here, in the lowliest of places,
content to see You in fragments only.
We'll find You in the frames above the mantel,
in the words on a dog-eared page,
in our family names,
when the dishes are piled high in the sink,
during the long goodbye's at the back door.
And You will meet us there as well, right where we are.
