When you miss your son.
You must hold fast.
The steady mast of that old rugged cross.
And you must cling through tears and ridiculous desires to make him small again.
You must let him go.
You know...
Wind and wings and all.
Because...
He must fly or die trying.
And you, Mama, must wait it out.
On your knees, Mama.
Alone with Jesus, Mama.
Waiting desperately.
Deliberately.
When you miss your son,
Bernadette
No comments:
Post a Comment