Mitchell

Mitchell bounced happily into my life;
My first grandson, full of hope and promise.
Though he could never walk, or talk;
A heart of love and a disposition of joy,
Spoke, where words never would:
He could smile; he could hug;
And he could give kisseys;
He spread laughter and gladness,
Like a perfect, playful bubble,
Dancing gayly in the sunlight.
Alas, one stormy August night,
My perfect little bubble burst;
And Mitchell was gone.

For days uncounted;
Only the motions of life
Did I go through:
Sore in body; sore in mind;
Sore in heart; and sore in spirit;
My soul lingered, dismally,
Near the depths of misery.
Prayer was fleeting at best,
And faith staggered under the blows:
The sickening assaults of pain;
The constant reminders of loss;
A place of refuge I found,
Only in deepest sleep.

Sunlight, flashing off Mitchell's picture,
On a crisp and cool fall morning,
Flared brightly across my face;
Waking me suddenly, with a start.
As I gazed longingly at his smile,
A warm trickle of joy passed into my soul;
And I smiled at the memories .......
Even laughed as I recalled his antics:
Soon the trickle turned to a bubbling;
Then an irruption throughout my being,
Driving me to my knees in awe and adoration,
As His miracle of healing blossomed forth,
With His gentle fingertip carress.

Then came a gentle, almost melodic voice;
"The healing and the promise,
Are imbedded in thy faith;
What you need; what you would;
You already have; if you only will."
Joy and abundance of life were renewed,
But fuller, and somehow more sublime:
I had aged; I had grown; I had learned;
Now I knew His peace and abundance
Were secure, not only from the troubles of life;
But from within the troubles of life as well.
A last word, I have hid in my heart,
For the joy it brings; "He can walk now."