He knows your tangled thoughts; He knows them straight.
He knows when you’re not here
and where you are when you’re gone.
He knows your ways.
Before your words are lost before they get to your tongue,
He knows what you were about to say, what you meant.
He knows you.
There’s nowhere you can go, Mom, where God won’t go with you,
where God’s Spirit won’t comfort you, can’t hold you.
As your light turns to night, even this darkness won’t hide you.
God sees you clearly because dark is light to Him.
He’ll go with you.
And He thinks of you, Mom, often.
The number of times, the many ways God cares for you,
if we tried to count them, would outnumber
sand on a beach.
So you can rest easy, while I count.
I’m counting my tears.
I’m counting the slights, the indignities, the affronts
to your good pride.
I’m counting the frayed edges, the missing pieces of your
lost person.
But we’ll get through this, Mom,
because when you awake—everyday and someday—you
will be with him.
And someday I too will awake with Him, with you.
I found this one day and I changed it to fit my mom. I always say that God is holding each lost word and lost memory in the palm of His hand. One day, those will be released back to my mom. One day, she will be restored. If I love my mom this much and ache for her as much as I do, God much ache more. He created her. Although, I don't always understand why we are going through this. I know He is with us and isn't letting one forgotten moment get away from Him. I also believe, He is holding on to every tear that I shed on behalf of my mom and I. His ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not our thoughts. I just have to trust.
