Words Are Lost

I want to write, but there are those times when words just won’t come.  No matter how much I want to force them, they just refuse to be there.  And it’s strange because words are my medicine, my cathartic force.  They fix things.  But they can’t fix this.

I’ve been trying to write, but I can’t seem to get anything out.  I can’t work on my book.  I can’t work on my blog.

I wrote a poem for my dad, because I wanted him to have it.  I wanted to send it with him.  And I wanted everyone to know he had it.  Definitely not my best work, but when you consider that I wrote it with about a half a bottle of wine in me and with a full flood of tears flowing, maybe you can forgive me.

Dad, you weren’t perfect, but I still haven’t found anyone on this earth who is.  You were the best daddy I could have had, and I hope the memories keep pouring in.  I miss you already, and I will miss you always.

Every single time you saw me, you told me, “Let Jesus sleep on your pillow.”  This one’s for you, Dad.

Heaven’s Pillow
A place to lay your weary head
where earthly struggles cannot reach,
A place to rest your tired soul
where angels God’s promises beseech.
A place of peaceful quietness
to envelope every woe
and keep you gently wrapped in
Heaven’s promised fold.
A fight long fought, a day long done,
you’ve lived life to its best.
In standing for the Father,
you’ve found your place of rest.
Lay your head softly down
on pillows made of clouds.
We know we’ll see you soon enough,
though we do not see you now.
So rest a while and know you’re loved
by all those waiting here.
Lay your head on Glory’s cloud
and whisper that you’re near.
Close your eyes and let it go,
let pain and struggles end.
Lay your head on Heaven’s pillow—
we’ll see you yet again.
Let Jesus sleep on your pillow, Dad.

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