"to watch him weep in your arms...

Come in old man...

He is
gone.

Left
long ago
with his
portion...

I send your meals
to you as
you sit here
waiting...why?

You have a son...
a faithful son,
a good boy, 
one who works beside you,
and asks for nothing

Can't you see how
he
waits for your
attention,
a place in your heart...
while you
wait at the end of the road
searching the
horizon
for
some sign of
the errant one.

Let him go.
Let him be a feckless
child...
wasting
his
substance on
wine, and women,
and games of chance in the
town square.

I cannot let him go.
He is
precious in my sight.
He is
a prince...to me..and, I know,
to you.
He is fighting for his
life...
for his right to
live with
passion...and 
personal vision.

I know he may have
made mistakes,
but he is trying
to make us
proud of him
by doing it all
himself,
all that
he thinks
we believe
he
could not do without
our help.

We taught him to
trust his heart...
and our God. 
Now, we need to trust
our God
and His love for him
completely.

Yes, you are right,
he does not
choose my fields today.
He does not
want to stand beside me
in rows
of
barley
counting
ephah of grain.

But he only asked for
the portion he thought was
his birthright,
and the freedom to
explore his
talents
without
our
oversight,
or his brother
weighing in.

I may not understand
his path,
but
he is still
our son.

He is still the boy
you sang to sleep.
He is still the boy
whose laughter I love to hear
as it dances
in the wind, and swirls around
me as I work...making my
day lighter, and my
heart smile.

He is still our son's
brother.

I
know you,
wait for him,
too. 
I see you standing by the well,
shielding your eyes from the
sun,
as you scan the horizon
for a sign.
We can trust
that
the Father of us all
has
a plan,
a reason,
a purpose for him...
is teaching him grand lessons...
humility,
courage,
grace...and will
guide  him
safely
home.

I will be watching.
I will be waiting.
I want to hear his story.

I want to
see his face
Hear his voice
Watch him weep in your arms.
Hug his brother.
Share his story....
so others will
not be afraid
to come home.

to be loved,
is to be waited for...

"Not all who wander
are
lost."

"the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien and Nancy Wallace are referenced briefly at the end of this poem.