The rushing waters grew still and the voices of life silenced as the shadow of nightfall crept across the bayou like a thief awaiting his victim. Slowly, quietly and stealthy the bayou was overcome by darkness, emptiness and uneasy sense of peace. Rosemary reds slowly melted into passionate pinks, beautiful blues slowly melted into peaceful purples as the sun slowly melted into the moon.
Tonight the world was dying and so was my heart. A gentle wind caressed the tips of the bayou trees as if to say goodbye. The wind whispered so very gently her tears, a gift in which for me to cry. My eyes gazed toward the painted sunset sky or heaven’s canvas as my grandfather so tenderly referred to God’s sunset and through the darkness my tears so freely fell. But I did not weep alone for even the Weeping Willowed trees wept with me tonight.
“Grandpa,” I whispered my voice floating on the wind. “I’m home. I’m just sorry I was so late.”
In silence and in solitude with my broken heart and my empty hands I waited. I waited but I only found an empty solitude and an eternal silence.
My mind wandered to memories of so long ago, so easily forgotten. Life, love and living were my excuses for never returning for my summer bayou visits. I grew up and my
grandfather grew old. I was ensnared by teenage tragedies and my grandfather embraced the golden years. Life was about clichés, cliques and criticism; living was about love, life and loss.
Our lives wandered in two directions, two lives with two different pretenses, passions and purposes. My live continually wayward while my grandfather’s life wandered upward.
I gazed at the gates of hell, he glimpsed at the gates of heaven. I found comfort in the arms of Satan; he found comfort in the arms of the Savior.
He prayed unendingly for my safe return, my homecoming. I begged for him to forget about me, I was just another wretched not worth his prayers, his patience or his time. I was hurting, hopeless and helpless and yet he kept on praying.
I wandered through the wildness, stood within the flames of death and fallen into the temptation of the devil. I waded through the floodwaters of Noah; I crumpled like the walls of Jericho. I’ve lied, I’ve lost, I’ve learned and yet I’ve also lived. I lived through the prayers, patience and protection of my grandfather.
He prayed beside his bed, he prayed before his morning coffee. He prayed as he walked along the bayou shores, he prayed so much harder than he’d ever prayed before. Yet God remain silent almost as if solaced within his soul.
I gazed across the water, “Grandpa, I’m home. I’m just sorry I was so late.”
A sense of serenity seizes my heart and a piece of my soul. In silence, I wait and I wonder. My heart is eased knowing of my forgotten past, my forgiven present and my forged future. His praying hands and his patient heart have finally grasped my soul.
“God,” I whisper. “Is it too late? Do I have anymore time. Can I finally come home?”
The wind whispers so softly in my ear, “I’ve been waiting for you here.”
My knees grow week, my heart beats warm. No more running, no more chases, no more hiding spaces. Finally, I’ve found my place; my heart is now His home.
The wind whispers so softly in my ear, an echo of my past, “Welcome Home.”
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