Psalm 39:4
Make me to know
Mine end
The Psalmist wrote
So long ago.
It still rings strong
This plea, this yearning
Now to know
About the end
Of me, of us, of all we are
And where we’ll go.
But is it death,
This end
Of which he speaks?
It likely is,
But maybe, even then
There is a way in which
we DO live on.
Perhaps another way
To look at ends
And ponder long
To know the kind
Of end we’re working on.
It brings to mind a scene,
A time some years ago,
A distant place, with histories
To which, sometimes
I’d come and go.
And when I did, I’d have
A sense somehow
That here I was
Diminished, second rate,
Through history and
Happenstance
And prejudice and fate.
So I would slink
Head down
And eyes upon the ground
(Inside you know,
Not physically)
A feeling, strong and real.
Into the church
That should have been
A welcome place
I’d shuffle
Young, unsure,
Without a sense of place.
But there was this man, I’ll call
him friend, although he was
Some 30 years
Ahead of me in life
He’d spy me and approach
With hand outstretched
And smile wide with
Open heart and face.
Radiant with the love
That only comes from
Walking in God’s grace.
I’ll never know exactly
What he saw in me.
Perhaps he felt a little of my
sense of history.
But I do know
that suddenly
I had a place
To walk a little more erect.
A measured stride
A quickened pace
That’s 40 years ago
At least.
And I don’t know
Just now, as here I write,
If earthly life still pulses in
My friend,
Or if he’s passed beyond
Into eternal light.
I could ask someone, I guess.
I think I will.
But truer still,
There IS a way
In which he has not yet met
his end.
In me.
In memory.
In sense of worth.
In walking tall.
In demonstrating love
From God to all.
The way I’d like to, now.
Make me to know
Mine end.
The Psalmist wrote.
Know this, my friend.
The end is not a different
path, than that we walk
today.
Today, well lived, lives on
long past my earthly end.
My look of love
My hand outstretched,
All that I say,
And how it’s said,
These things live on
In lives that I will touch
Today
Don Toews February 19/2012
Hey Dad! I love that you’re doing this! You’re such an inspiration to me and I look forward to reading your articles and someday your book!
I had the happiest childhood and the best parents any girl could ask for. My dad has always been there for me no. matter. what. I’ve been running to him with all my troubles since I was an itty bitty girl and he always has time to sit and listen and I always leave feeling like it’s all gonna be ok. I have 4 brothers, 2 older and 2 younger, so I was picked on from all sides! 😉 My mom tended to side with the boys most of the time (she denies this) but I knew that I could always count on Dad. One memory stands out as clear as if it happened yesterday.. Our parents had went out for the evening and left all of us children at home. I was probably about 10 or so at the time. It had been a rough evening. My brothers were all ganged up against me and I was in tears. We lived up on a hill that overlooked the road where Mom and Dad would be coming home, so I sat down by the window, propped my elbows on the windowsill, and watched the road with tear-filled eyes, waiting for their lights to come over the hill. My older brothers kept taunting me, much to my younger brothers delight. I felt so alone and mistreated, but I knew that there’d be relief just as soon as Mom and Dad walked in. And then, when things couldn’t possibly get any worse, folks’ lights came into sight and Trevor started singing “Look who’s coming up over the hill, Look who’s crying on the windowsill…” And while I sobbed uncontrollably they all rolled on the floor with laughter. I met folks at the door heartbroken and tried to get the story out in between sobs. Surely they would feel sorry for me! I had been so mistreated all evening and then that horrible song!! Well when I sputtered out the part of “look who’s coming up over the hill, look who’s crying on the windowsill” MY MOM STARTED LAUGHING!! How could it be??!! I had never felt so rejected in all my little life. But. who didn’t laugh? Who scooped me up and went and sat down with me, holding me close? Who let me pour out all my brother troubles on his shoulder amidst many tears? Who made me feel like I was still very loved and always would be? My Dad. My dear dear Dad. Now when I look back at that evening so long ago I have to laugh too.. I must admit it WAS a fitting song. And I’m quite sure that Dad probably had to work pretty hard not to laugh too. But he didn’t and that’s all that mattered. Now don’t get me wrong. I love my Mom more than words can say and I know she has always loved me. I just think I was a little too dramatic for her sometimes and she didn’t know how to handle me all the time. If ever she didn’t know what to tell me she’d say “Go to your Dad.” He’d always listen and know just what to say.
There was one time tho that even Dad turned his back on me. Just once. Our family was on one of our many road trips and I was in the front seat with Mom and Dad. I don’t remember all the details except that I must not have wanted to share something with my brothers in the back seat. Dad was chuckling when he said it but he called me “Greedy Guts”. Did I hear right?? Did my dad just call me GREEDY GUTS??? My heart was crushed. And once again everyone was laughing. Never had I felt so alone. I remember looking out the window to a train yard we were passing by and wondering if life was even worth living. Now as I look back I have to laugh. The term Greedy Guts has become a joke. And years later when Dad found out how hurtful that was to me he apologized of course. I’ve always been a little too sensitive. But I think the reason I remember this incident so well is because it was the only time that Dad did such a thing. I know now that I deserved every bit of it. I truly was a Greedy Guts. And I know that Dad did it only out of fun, but in my little girl mind it was devastating.
So, thank you Dad, for always being there for me, for being my Rock and a shining example for me to follow! I love you!