Friday, May 7, 2010

FIRE camp

We drove over the mountains, mother and daughter, to visit the one close to our hearts through life and childhood's grace; through anger and addiction - through trouble and prayer; through grief and affliction. She is ours and we are hers - painfully and profoundly so. The way there full of tears and fears and a tepid, wary faith. But even a tepid faith can suddenly burst into flame as she sees us, runs to change, comes as fast as she can, tears streaming down her own cheeks and ours. The surprise is always best; no time for pretense; she cried out her need for us and we embraced our need for her. If we were to have nothing more, that day shall comfort me always. Real joy is not dependent on circumstance. Real joy is found when God is present and you know it.

1 comment:

Cizonor said...

This is a beautiful poem Mom. Thank you for sharing it. Made me tear up.