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😅

 (see recipe and flop details here)

There will be little fellas by their older sisters, bossed

There will be Cinderellas with glass slippers not yet lost

There will be household chores and uproars outside bathroom doors

And scoldings as trespassers tiptoe over fresh mopped floors

There will be oceans of spilled milk on which years sail to sea

While 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 do

There will be happy laughter and oh, there will be heartbreak

There will be health and sickness as we shoulder give-and-take 

There will be prayers, so many prayers, and cake and cups of tea

As we thank God for the kind blessing of a family

There will be editing as mom tries to tame grocery lists

And day trips to doctors, dentists, teachers and pharmacists

And sweet goodnights and wake-me-ups at half-past way too soon

And playdates in the backyard and laundry lines to the moon

As smiles and tears compose a dear echo-framed gallery

Of motley medleys showcasing blessing of family

There will be second miles as we all learn to do our part

To make the most of perfectly imperfect works of art

There will be popsicle mustaches, puddle-splashes, and

A bedtime-story-goodnight-kiss-prayer-paved path to dreamland

There will be storms to weather as we weather what must be

Not alone but together with blessing of family

There will be sacrifice, the price of love requires this

There will be hands to hold and hands we held and dearly miss

There will be lovely glimpses of Heaven on earth and oh,

There will be grief, as we suffer Love’s hardest letting go

Which reminds us to cherish every opportunity

To never take for granted, the blessing of family

Lord, willing there will be babies, grandmas and grandpas too

And in between, a spectrum of love's green-gold-blush-and-blue 

There will be crushing disappointments, patience-bested rants

And through it all, pray, an increasing awe for He who grants

And cares for us the same through both triumph and tragedy

While teaching us to treasure the blessing of family

There will be noise and weariness and broken toys and dreams

As girls and boys shed childhood joys far too quickly, it seems

When looking back at careworn seasons hushed by yesteryear

Leaving behind a rush of reverence for now and here

Because no one can tell how near or far lies death’s dark sea

That 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 poetry

Edgar A. Guest

Home

BY EDGAR ALBERT GUEST

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,

A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam

Afore 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 then

Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;

And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part

With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:

The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore

Ye 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’ sigh

An’ 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 memories

O’ 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 year

Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear

Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run

The 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.