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
The Shoulders stands at the airport surrounded by arrows from his quiver, these weapons of war. His children gather 'round and reach to touch him, to say goodbye, to receive his blessing. He kisses tops of heads, cups faces in hands, takes young men by the shoulders, giving them his mantle. Giving them his strength.
I am last. Waiting there on the curb for his lips, his life and all that light in his eyes. Watching his arms circle the legacy of our love, I wait to step into the hard embrace of goodbye. Again. This man of mine travels the hard road, and we build callouses on our feet watching him go.
Jesus is here, and He is strong in our weakness. He is our hiding place and our strong tower. We continue to build this life, this family, on the Man Who gave His life on a beam. Giving us all we need. The wood to build an alter. A place for hearts on fire. Burning for this Jesus. The One Who meets every need. The One Who died so He could.
The One Who paid it all,