A Mother’s Plea
©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson
image by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
When I was young, life rolled along
in notes as varied as a song.
My music played, light and profound,
both rainbow hues and solemn sound.
Most days, the sun rose in my mind
with all the light I hoped to find.
The air I breathed smelled crisp and free,
replete with possibility.
The world shone friendlier and new,
no wounds to bruise my point of view.
Small sadnesses and simple fears
were swept away by hugs and tears.
It all felt right to me somehow:
the pain, the joy, the furrowed brow
were balanced then – a symmetry.
Life made sense, and I held the key.
God in His heaven paved my way,
watched over me throughout the day
and sheltered in each darkening hour,
my soul secure within His power.
And all was well within my heart.
I found the good, the better part.
Yes, there were clouds; yes, there was rain,
but every struggle promised gain.
This innocence survived my youth.
As troubles grew, I held to truth.
My step felt steady through each storm,
while fires of faith burned bright and warm.
I climbed mountains courageously,
fought enemies I could not see,
looked up for help to carry on,
and found God’s peace in every dawn.
My spirit grew, and I felt sure
that, with His love, I would endure
whatever trial might come my way
with strength sufficient for the day.
Life was a challenge and a gift.
What brought me down could also lift.
The power was mine to shrink or grow,
to fall or rise up, blow by blow.
This knowledge anchored me for years.
Today, how fragile it appears.
Tsunami threatens – mounting high
as moon and stars and sun-filled sky.
There is no limit to its reach;
I dread the lessons it might teach.
This wave of waves, beyond control,
may break upon my mother soul.
I long to stand up, meet the blow,
then knock it down to ebb and flow.
I know the rules; I have the might.
But this war is not mine to fight.
My hands are tied; my feet are bound.
Though water crashes him to ground,
I cannot save the one in need,
for I am powerless indeed.
(The power is his to wield or cede.)
Why do some sail more tranquil seas,
with fewer storms and greater ease,
while others rarely dodge the squall
and find no lasting peace at all?
Will there be justice for the one
who gives his utmost, like my son,
yet bravery no mercy earns?
Each gain, a greater loss returns.
I love the Lord; I trust His plan,
and still I cannot understand.
“Thy will be done” should yet ring true.
God loves His child more than I do.
But why these walls, these looming walls?
One springs up every time one falls.
Most find some respite on the earth,
but this man has been plagued from birth.
And now his star is fading fast.
I fear it may blow out at last.
God gives no more than man can take.
Let that be true, for my son’s sake.
I am an innocent no more,
the waves are battering at my door.
I have no power to save the day.
The power is God’s. I kneel. I pray.
image by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
If this poem resonates with you, you might also relate to Musings on Faith, Peace, My Child, and A Parent’s Reverie.
